


Two Shall Withstand

by Neila_Nuruodo, Sheshaventures



Series: Tapestry [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Soul Bond, Soul Damage, Soul Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheshaventures/pseuds/Sheshaventures
Summary: The gift of time spent, of a compassionate ear, cannot be overestimated. When Elidibus gives ear to Nabriales's frustrations during his work under Lahabrea, they find a connection neither of them had anticipated.
Relationships: Elidibus & Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus/Nabriales (Final Fantasy XIV), Lahabrea & Nabriales
Series: Tapestry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643011
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Spindle

**Author's Note:**

> Another collaboration between Shesha and Neila! We do hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spindle: A slender rounded rod with tapered ends used in hand spinning to twist and wind thread from a mass of wool or flax held on a distaff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meetings and beginnings.

The dark brick of the stronghold remains silent, only broken by a distant set of footsteps that fade into nothing. The light is vague here, casting deep shadows throughout almost spartan rooms, forever in twilight as they are, and the atmosphere seems hushed. Waiting. 

It does not have to wait for long.

The stagnant air is abruptly broken in a whirl of black and violet, a robed figure stepping forth. Pale robes trimmed in gold swirl about brown boots as Elidibus takes several steps into the center of the room, then stops. Alone, for a few brief moments, golden claws clench into irritated fists in a rare show of frustration. The Archbishop had been difficult, almost infuriatingly so. It had taken every bit of skill which earned him the election of Emissary to move the discussions forward in a favorable way. 

Fingers slacken, and a heavy sigh escapes him. He did his duty to the letter, every task expected of him - and more - gladly; times like these, however, made him yearn ever more for a moment of respite. He dwells on memories for a few brief moments, taking this bit of time alone for himself. There were none to see this moment of weakness, after all.

An indulgence, but a brief one.

  
  


A soft sound rings out - a footstep - followed by another. A figure emerges from the shadows, his dark robe a contrast to Elidibus's white. He stops a few paces away, arms folding over his chest. He regards the white-robed Ascian with a frown, fully visible with his hood lowered and mask not in evidence. He tilts his head, earrings swaying with the motion; his eyes linger for just a second on the Emissary's hands.

"Well?" Nabriales says. The tone is carefully neutral, revealing little of his thoughts beyond impatience.

  
  


If Elidibus is surprised at Nabriales's sudden appearance, it shows only in the barest way his head turns, the beak of his mask becoming visible to the other Ascian behind him. There is a line of tension across his shoulders, wound immeasurably tight under suppressed emotion.

"The Archbishop has, after much deliberation, agreed to listen to our proposals." The words are as smooth as they ever are, but the signature lilting tone, the music in his voice is absent. It is the only sign the Emissary gives of his exhaustion.

His body turns in full, looking upon Nabriales thoughtfully for a few long moments, "As with Shiva before them, the Heavens' Ward shall take unto themselves the Knight's Twelve." A deliberate pause, "Though you are here for other purposes." The white hood tilts to the side, exposing ever so slightly a glimpse of white hair pulled back and out of sight.

  
  


"Don't remind me," Nabriales mutters. "I suppose I should take heart that _something_ at least has gone right this day." He raises his face to Elidibus, though his shoulders slump a fraction. "Speaking of Shiva, she rose once more - and significantly stronger than last time, thanks in no small part to my own efforts. Alas, she was once again cast down by the Bringer of Light." His lip twists, teeth showing in a snarl. "This is becoming a problem. Something must be done, and soon."

  
  


"Peace, Nabriales; we must needs take care regarding Hydaelyn's Champion," Elidibus says, and his voice turns to soothing. "Your disinterest in their gift is plain, yet observation is required at this time. How far they have come, what abilities they might yet express, these are vital if we are to keep the balance of the star in place."

The Emissary ceases speaking only to nod to himself. Slowly he lifts one brown glove, taking hold of his hood and pulling it down to expose his head completely. The sheen of hair is pure white, long, held back and tied in a simple tail - it is an acquiescence, an olive branch, and though his mask remains fixed on his face, Elidibus pulls the length free to drape over one shoulder.

"You continue to perform admirably, and for that you have my thanks." The words are not mere platitudes, but genuine, and that line of tension seems to ease ever so slightly.

  
  


Nabriales's countenance morphs from irritation to surprise as the Emissary's hood falls to his shoulders. He watches Elidibus for a breath, weighing his words, his sincerity. He steps forward, closer, stopping perhaps an arm's reach from the other Ascian.

"I shall leave the matter of the champion to you for now, then. Provided," he adds with a glint in his eyes, "that you remember that I stand ready to dispatch them at such time as it becomes necessary." He sets the topic aside with a sigh. "Truly, it is reassuring that my efforts have not gone _completely_ unnoticed. Why, you would think me one of Lahabrea's lessers, the way he uses me for his errands."

His eyes flick to the narrow holes of Elidibus's mask. "But, ah, I suppose you haven't the time to listen to my woes. You have gotten the Archbishop to lend you his ear; was this not always the most difficult part? I have no doubt that you will persuade him." He grins. "You certainly have a knack for that. And then the next Rejoining will be but a matter of time."

  
  


The sigh that pulls itself from Elidibus is as exasperated as it is put-upon. "Lahabrea has long been eccentric, as you well know. Though it has been some time since I last set foot upon the Source, and in that time our Speaker has only grown in those qualities." The tone is saddened, slightly. "Do not take personal offense, you remain as Majestic as you always have been." The change of topic is for both of them.

He shifts in place with the mention of their work in Ishgard, edging another portion of a step closer to Nabriales. The beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "You will find that despite the fervent nature of my duties, I find it quite within my abilities to lend one such as you an ear." He is honest, with those words, spoken more quietly than those before, as if they were some sort of confession.

Then Nabriales compliments him, turning that devious mouth on the Emissary. But, of course, he only speaks of their work, and Elidibus reins himself in, only the faintest hint of color standing out on the pale skin of those cheekbones. "Would that it were so simple. The Archbishop is a shrewd man; he will be most taxing to parlay with throughout this endeavor."

He is thankful that the mask hides the way he stares at the other man's burnt orange eyes, his lips.

  
  


Nabriales's intent stance loosens beneath Elidibus's soothing tones, and he fairly preens at the reminder of his title. In a similar manner, the Emissary's reassurance of interest in his misfortunes seems to draw him out; his eyes search Elidibus's face - what little can be seen - roving across the mask as though answers might be found written upon it. But he holds his tongue, continuing to listen with a thoughtful countenance.

Elidibus's final words draw a chuckle from Nabriales. "If _you_ find him taxing, then it is best that I never wind up within the same room as him. I shall leave that endeavor to you and our esteemed Speaker. Speaking of whom, it seems I have some time to waste while I wait for Lahabrea. If-" he falters, eyes dropping for a moment, "if you truly can spare some time for me, I would welcome it. As an amusement," he adds hastily. Faint color dusts his cheekbones; he raises one hand, spreading the fingers in an inviting - and diversionary - gesture.

  
  


Heat across Elidibus's face blooms further and is staunchly ignored by the Emissary. What is not, however, is that small catch, and he wonders at it. Wonders at the pink awash on that exposed face as Nabriales issues an invitation - an _invitation_ buried under excuses, yet observation had primed the man in white for millennia. He catalogues the expression on Nabriales's face, eyes tracing over his features in this moment to _remember_ them, before inclining his head.

"I would not have made the offer were there not time to spare." His voice is remarkably steady, schooled with precision. But he is curious, and cannot hold back the questions. "What amusement would you present?"

That hand is so close, and Elidibus is emboldened by the reactions of his colleague. Were he to act in error, it could easily be rectified, and so he too lifts a hand, turning it, the backs of golden claws gently running down dark gloves. The sound of metal sliding against metal breaks the temporary silence, and though his mask is still in place his gaze bores into the Majestic's.

Move made, he waits.

  
  


Nabriales stands for a moment frozen, blinking. He looks for all the world like a kitten that, swiping after its prey, has abruptly succeeded in catching it and now has no idea what to do with it. The faint color staining his cheeks deepens, entirely unmistakeable now; lips part and eyes drop to the hand that slips along his own. A soft reverberation calls his attention to a portal, a new arrival. Lahabrea.

His hand drops like a stone, his posture shifting toward a more aggressive stance as he turns to face his erstwhile supervisor. "About time," he mutters.

Lahabrea strides to a stop; beyond a nod to the white-robed Ascian he barely acknowledges his presence. "What of Shiva?"

"Vanquished again by the Warrior of Light." Nabriales's annoyance grows visibly at Lahabrea's satisfaction.

"Interesting. How much power will Hydaelyn feed into Her chosen..." His musings trail away, and he glances up at Nabriales. "I will contact you when I have need of you again." With a final dip of his head to each of them, he disappears once more.

Nabriales blows out a deep sigh, turning back to Elidibus. Something changes in his expression on seeing the Emissary still there - a softening, the annoyance fading slowly away.

"My apologies. Now, where..." A faint crease mars his forehead, quickly smoothed away. "Ah yes." His fingertips twitch, the hand splaying open without leaving his side. "If there is one thing I excel at, it is diversions." He gives the Emissary a bright grin. "Of course, if you haven't something in mind already, I am sure I can come up with something..."

  
  


Elidibus notes that Nabriales is, in fact, _quite_ receptive to his gamble. The look it had earned him is devoured, memorized, for it was not every day that one took the Majestic off guard as severely as this. There is a slight uplifting within the Emissary as something clicks into place, and when Nabriales's eyes drop to stare at their fingers, Elidibus realizes that it would take but a moment to shift his hand, to-

The moment is over in an instant, Lahabrea and his impeccable timing shattering the delicate balance they had found themselves in. His own hand lowers to his side after Nabriales recoils, and there is a twinge of pain at the way the Speaker all but ignores his existence. Nabriales bristles, but Elidibus merely sighs, soundlessly - a wordless lament for the man he remembered, the man Lahabrea had once been, in a world that was whole.

Ever had the man been focused, but to see the agonizingly long deterioration of one of their greatest serves only to spur Elidibus onwards.

He watches as Lahabrea takes his leave, as the tension leaves Nabriales when he turns back to face the Emissary. His figure, in turn, has straightened, tension returning as the _weight_ returns. But something odd happens, then. Typically after such a reminder he would take his own leave, taking greater burdens for himself than he should, anything to quicken their Great Work. Instead, the softening of Nabriales stills his usual actions.

That he is not extended an invitation again does not miss his attention, but Nabriales has remained and so hope sparks deep in the bottom of his chest. That grin, such brightness in such a dark place, drags a smile of his own to Elidibus's lips.

"It is to my understanding that the one who makes the invitation decides upon the entertainment," he tries for an even tone, but it comes out as amused - almost _fond._ He tries again for boldness. "Consider myself at your disposal, for this diversion."

  
  


The warm eyes narrow, a speculative light glimmering in their depths. The Emissary's offer - placing himself at Nabriales's disposal, even if only for a diversion - is unexpected. Rare. Precious. He must not squander this gift. For a moment he again seems lost, but confidence crystallizes, bolstering his grin.

"So generous with your time. The Archbishop must have taxed you more sorely than I realized. Something relaxing, then, I'd say." A talon taps his chin, and he nods. "Have you been to the Akh Afah Amphitheatre? 'Twas the location of the Bringer of Light's most recent battle against Shiva; not two bells ago it was beset with the most glorious auroras I've seen. Glowing skies drifting calm snow over half-tumbled masonry... certainly a lovely sight." He shoots a sidelong glance at the white-robed Ascian. "And with their battle but lately finished, you could, if you were so inclined, see something of the aetherial signature left by Hydaelyn's hero. What say you?"

The smile is as bright as ever, though there is something almost fragile behind it. With pent breath and tense shoulders he watches for Elidibus's reply.

  
  


A soft hum escapes as Elidibus gives the question some thought. "I cannot say that I have been to such a place personally. Not as it must exist in its current state." Another catch, this time of an _unspoken_ invitation and with the added quality of study, it does not feel as if he would shirk his duty - as impossible as it would seem to be, for the Emissary to do such a thing. But now is not the time for ruminations, not with Nabriales looking at him so expectantly.

His voice softens, almost imperceptibly, but it's there, "I say that you are correct, and it seems to be a location that inspires rest." He reaches a hand towards Nabriales, palm up, the gesture carefully neutral but made full of bias from his flushed face. "Seeing as I have not borne witness to this place, it falls to you to guide us both there."

Unbeknownst to the Emissary, his smile turns encouraging with the acceptance. Almost eager.

  
  


Elidibus's assent draws Nabriales's spine just a tad straighter, his smile strengthening as his confidence burgeons. His hand arches over Elidibus's, curling into a firm hold, unhesitating.

"Allow me," he says, his voice lowering. He opens a rift, drawing the Emissary with him to his destination. Their boots land on icy stone; Nabriales does not yet relinquish his hold on Elidibus's hand, using it to coax him to turn in the direction he faces.

Evening's last light paints the western horizon, the frigid air muting the colors to soft pastels. High clouds float above the mountainous skyline, a darker contrast to the fade of pale sky as it grades through violet toward a deep indigo overhead. Above, great curtains of glowing light ripple and curl, brilliant green and blue overlaid with wavering hints of red. The thick blanket of snow covering every surface returns all light that strikes it; the vibrant hues of the aurora color the long shadows cast by twilight.

Through it all lazy flakes of snow drift down, silent and stately. Nabriales tears his eyes from the majesty before them, his gaze settling on Elidibus. The folds and contours of his robe, as pale as the snow surrounding them, also take color from the gleaming aurora overhead, as does the shining stretch of his hair. The Emissary looks utterly native in the delicate light and dancing flakes of snow, in his element. Words die on Nabriales's lips as he gazes upon the white-robed Ascian; slowly they regroup, recovering for another attempt.

"Lovely, is it not?" His fingers loosen only reluctantly; his hand slips free of Elidibus's, though his fingertips linger for a second, drawing the contact out a little longer.

  
  


Clever fingers twist, catching fingertips before they may completely slip away. Elidibus does not fully interlace their fingers, merely the ends in a tentative grasp as the technicolor sky yawns wide above them. His head tilts upwards, flakes catching in his hair and sparkling like diamonds when they do not melt. A crown they make, made even more apparent when his free hand slowly removes the crimson mask from his face. 

His face is young, features unremarkable, and his eyes stay closed for several long moments before opening to gaze unimpeded upon the spectacle above. Those pale eyes seem to devour the sight, and fully exposed that face - so passive, so _stoic_ behind his mask of duty - melts into a myriad of emotions.

"Where we once lived, there were gems like this," fingertips squeezing ever so slightly. He speaks softly, gently, sharing what he remembered with the other Ascian. "Places to observe the wonders of our star. When the season was right, even our fair city was known to see nature set fire to the sky. Grander than this, at times." His voice lowers.

"I would have you see them once more."

A familiar smile touches his lips, and with his face exposed Nabriales may see how it reaches Elidibus's eyes, softening and narrowing them ever so slightly. Hair flashing in the light, the Emissary turns to bare his visage entirely to the taller man.

"Thank you, Nabriales," their fingertips still interlocked, that smile grows unmistakably fond beneath cheeks dusted with color. "It is quite lovely," he says, and though he speaks of the sky, his eyes remain on Nabriales.

  
  


Nabriales's eyebrows rise as the mask drops - truly, not simply in metaphor - and for a moment he treasures the sight. His eyes rove along the profile, studying the features, engraving them in his heart. He wants to remember this gift. And a gift it truly is; as Ascians can shape their vessels to suit their preferences, the features hold meaning, weight. Significance, if only to the shaper.

His reaction to the beauty wavering above them is everything Nabriales had hoped for. The emotion Elidibus chooses to share at the sight but paves the way for the warmth and wistfulness of his words, and Nabriales devours the offered memory greedily. His gaze goes distant as he envisions it, slotting it into the creation he holds in his mind, the replica of _home_ he has built from the words and memories of others. At Elidibus's soft, reverent near-promise, his focus returns, and his fingertips, still interlaced with the Emissary's, flex tighter for a moment.

That faint touch, so delicate as to nearly be insubstantial, grows at the same time almost unbearably weighty as Elidibus turns his gentle smile on him. At the movement, the snow adorning the crown of his head glimmers in the combined light of the moon and aurora, and Nabriales's eyes make another tour of the face. He does not fail to note the faint color, not quite hidden by the gathering darkness, nor the warmth of the smile given. The thanks offered, the praise, is judged as sincere and accepted, treasured in his heart. For a few breaths he remains silent, measuring his own response.

"It pleases me that you like it." The open admission is slow to emerge, almost shy. His eyes rise once more to the shifting light above them. "To know that we had such a thing, once..." The smile - the final mask Nabriales wears - falls away. His eyes sting, his fingers slide, gripping the Emissary's hand with abrupt strength. "I want to see it." The confession is pained, bitter. True. "I want to _remember."_ He draws a deep and uneven breath, his eyes once more seeking Elidibus's. His lips are twisted, holding back pain; in this moment, this solitude, he entrusts this deep part of himself to Elidibus.

"I _need_ to win it back. Whatever the price."

  
  


It is a delicate line to walk, that razor's edge between empathy and pity, to comfort a prideful individual while avoiding condescension. But Elidibus is an expert navigator of words, paragon of his craft - once upon a time. He knows what he is shown now is _special,_ a rarity given to few others - perhaps none. His true face has earned this glimpse of Nabriales, and it would take a force greater than His Grace to betray what he has been given. A single heartbeat to take in the sight, the feel fully of the hand in his - he squeezes, holds that grip to match his counterpart - and this memory would be cherished for the rest of his immortal life. That Nabriales has taken this step...

The path forward is clear.

"We will bring it back to you, in time." He takes a half step closer, standing barely more than a fulm away now. His voice is fervent, an oath, as those pale eyes meet the agonized gaze above him. Meets, holds. There is no pity in that gaze, only understanding, only _resolve._ "I work tirelessly to restore this to you. Innumerable memories, stolen, that which should have never been taken." A sharp intake of breath, held, let out slowly. This was not about him, no, not about his fury, though it is plainly seen.

A hand, bare of clawed gloves, the Emissary's mask nowhere in sight, lifts to gingerly touch the Majestic's chin. Elidibus's thumb and forefinger cradle gently with a long, soft stroke of the digits - and his countenance seems to melt, ever so slightly.

"We have all lost so very much," a whisper, hushed by the snow around them. "Some costs are far too steep for one of our number to pay." Had his mask shrouded his features, had his cowl of office stifled his expression, the thread of _pleading_ would surely be missed. Here, now, with himself held open and all masks dropped, bared to Nabriales in such a way, it is all but a beacon. 

Elidibus does not _beg,_ no. But he asks with his eyes just the same. For Nabriales to stay, even for just a while longer.

  
  


As Elidibus's hand tightens on his own and he closes the distance between them further, something in Nabriales eases. He has not made a mistake, it seems, in baring his heart. To be powerful but sundered is nearly a contradiction in terms, a warring condition fit to tear a person apart from within. Never can he forget the blind cruelty of fortune, to cleave so many apart and spare only three fortunate souls. Those souls - those Unsundered - by their nature, their simple existence, are the bearers of peerless knowledge and power.

How could a mere sundered soul, even raised up once more as he has been, hope to measure up?

And despite this disparity - whether it be true or merely in his perception - Elidibus does not despise him. Does not pity. That he is moved, touched, is plainly displayed both in his expression and in his words, a fierce but controlled determination that salves and bolsters Nabriales's heart. The Emissary's outrage at his offensive fallen condition matches his own, and he realizes that Elidibus somehow _understands_ how he feels.

And so, when Elidibus's hand rises to caress his chin, he releases a shuddering sigh, eyes closing as he entrusts himself to the touch. A moment later his own hand comes up to cup the fingers, leaving both of their hands now entwined. Though his fingers remain gloved, he presses the bared flesh of the Emissary's hand more firmly against his own skin, demanding more. Slowly his eyes slide open again as Elidibus speaks, the pain in them dimming somewhat at his words and at the welcome he perceives in his open expression.

After he falls silent, Nabriales draws a deep breath; his shoulders rise and fall, the movement smooth, even. A crooked smile grows, no mask this time but the light of an eased heart shining through.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words are soft. Grateful. Slowly, he closes the space between them, letting his head fall until his forehead presses against the Emissary's. His breath lingers in his lungs as he seeks more words to express himself; beggared, he instead lowers the walls of his soul, letting the aether that composes him brush against Elidibus in a questing invitation.

  
  


Languid strokes of Elidibus's thumb glide over skin, emboldened by how Nabriales encourages the gesture. The touch of fabric on his hand, contact despite the barrier, sends an almost imperceptible shiver through the Emissary. It is captivating, how he may watch the effect his words, his entreaty, has upon the other man. The success via his words, the lessening of torment followed by what can only be described as a _thaw._ That genuine smile, lopsided but _true,_ was one he had not seen in-

It had been far too long.

When Elidibus opens his mouth to respond, to deflect what gratitude he is given - it is the focus of their work, and as such recognition is beyond required - the words die upon his tongue as Nabriales touches their brows together. Yet the Majestic is not done, it seems, and Elidibus cannot stop the way his lips part, nor the swift intake of breath at such a gesture. This invitation is utterly unexpected, and his eyes fall shut - the better to _feel_ without his host's senses disturbing him too much. 

It is an easing, when Elidibus reaches back. A soft, gentle touch, curling around what has been proffered in welcome. Their conditions of soul mark them as different, but not so far as to be incompatible, allowing their edges to slot into place easily. Warm. Cherished. Appreciated. The Emissary, mysterious and aloof as he typically is, made transparent with the barest brush.

"You are..." Elidibus trails off, voice the faintest breath, but says no more.

  
  


For a moment, Nabriales just breathes in the unusual closeness, cherishing it. When Elidibus reaches to him in response to his aetherial invitation, he sighs. Slowly, tentatively, he opens himself further, putting his feelings on display.

Unlike the Emissary, he is no diplomat; words are not his primary weapon. Perhaps things were different, once, in that time before memory, but since his ascension words have served to keep others at a remove, to push away those who tried to insert themselves into what he considered his business or insinuate themselves into his good graces. Ever has he wielded them as tools of divisiveness, and now, when he wishes to use them to foster closeness instead, he finds himself at a loss. Unpracticed and unprepared. In desperation he has fallen back to a deeper form of communication - one he typically shuns, for fear of exposing too much of himself. But in this moment, he _trusts._

And oh, how his gesture is repaid. The closeness of another soul along his own is a striking intimacy, one so natural he cannot but wonder if he has done himself a disservice by avoiding it so assiduously. And so he unveils his heart, telling with emotion what he cannot seem to put into words, of his bitter inadequacy and hunger for completion, his disbelieving gratitude at being understood. Of the surprise he feels at finding a _fit_ with another - yes, with the Emissary of all people, but also that _anyone_ would find compatibility with him. Would _seek_ it. And hope, of winning the favor of Lord Zodiark by his strength and deeds, of winning recognition as they make the world whole once more.

Hope... that when the world is once again as it should be, he will have earned a place in it. One that belongs to him by his own merits, not those of a past life. Hope for a future of genuine companionship and fulfillment.

He breathes a word - a name - into the scant space between them.

  
  


The world shifts, ever so slightly. It is a subtle thing, missed by any outside the two souls mingling for the first time in oh, so long. But Elidibus feels it. That soft sliding, the fixation of some _rightness_ in a world where everything is wrong, broken, forgotten - all but he and his brethren, sundered or not. Nabriales, bereft of speech, instead shows him his truth _viscerally,_ and Elidibus cannot help but press just that bit closer, the aether of his soul latching on. Not with force, no, he would not betray this trust shown - for he, too, has avoided such intimacies for far too long. 

The conversation which follows is not told with language, but images, concepts, whole stories whispered from the deepest essence and transmitted in an instant. 

Reassurance and resolve double down, simmering along chords of respect and the yearning for more - for though the Emissary speaks to all, _for_ all, bearing His very word, he remains in utter isolation. The world was shattered, made ignorant, but they and their power would make it right once more. Reassurance, that this would come to pass. Resolve, to follow it through. For those who are lost, for those such as Nabriales, who should never have been broken - never made to remember naught but flashes, forced to forever reach for a goal that endlessly flees their grasp. Elidibus _understands,_ respect for Nabriales and all sundered Ascians bubbling to the fore. For while he, Emet-Selch, and Lahabrea draw from memory to enact the Ardor, from immense wells of power, those ascended do the same with far less at their disposal. 

Elidibus yearns for more, because though others may rankle at his conduct, all he does is for _them,_ in truth. Dismissed as being uninteresting, boring, a _worrier,_ but enduring such things - tireless in his work, earning the words in truth - because at his core he _cares_ so deeply. Desire, for touch, for contact and connection, yet overshadowed by the want of the Great Work to succeed - it is what they all _deserved,_ those broken souls such as Nabriales, and he would ensure it came to pass. The resulting isolation, his loneliness, is exposed as a weeping sore. He would not attempt to reach out unless invited, though until now none had done so in many, many years.

Conflict, seeing those souls who at their core remain the _same._ Nabriales in all his Majesty, all his power and prowess - despite his lack of completion, the loss of memories - remains very much the same individual, broken or not. Thoughts churn and the Emissary reaches, as if extending a hand. All that Nabriales has done - the work, the spellcraft, each endeavor - has been seen, acknowledged, _remembered._ Elidibus would bolster that hope he has been shown, fan the flickering flame with the truth of his own memories - the truth that should Nabriales desire a place, it will be there. Affection, hidden deep yet revealed slowly, for Nabriales _as he is._ It emerges from beneath that aching loneliness, bundled away behind duty. A soft brush, _I miss you_ not spoken but felt.

A soft exhalation shakes the Emissary to his center with a single utterance.

Helpless against the urge, he whispers a name in return.

  
  


The sense of isolation Elidibus shares resonates deeply in Nabriales. In his longing to win his way closer to their god, Nabriales has not realized before the sharp edges such a blessing carries - for that position has isolated the Emissary from his comrades, yet Lord Zodiark’s sundered state means He cannot provide companionship in their stead. In like manner, the knowledge of ages is balanced by grief born of intimate familiarity with what was lost. His jealousy fades, displaced by the redoubled promise that Elidibus _will see it done,_ for he empathizes truly with their difficulties and would redress the wrongs done to them.

For all his worrying, all his careful management and admonishments, spring not merely from concern over their god's desires and commands, but from a deeper source. Of course he, like all of them, wishes to see the world restored. But after millennia, the concepts of _family, friends, and loved ones_ have grown abstract. Those who stand beside him, though, who labor and sacrifice to see the vision become reality, are concrete. They are particulars upon which he has fixed his sight, specific and precious goals - he desires to see them restored in return for their striving towards a goal they cannot truly remember. If he worries overmuch, it grows from an overabundance of devotion.

How ironic, then, how tragic, that the same care he feels toward them should isolate him so. He is not, as Nabriales had assumed, unaware of how they view him. Nor is he uncaring of their assessments. It is another burden he bears - willingly, happily - another sacrifice he makes for their future. He accepts it as a necessity and carries on, and Nabriales is humbled by the realization that he would struggle to subsume his ego in like manner. And yet the desire for a connection lingers, echoing with Nabriales's own loneliness - self-imposed though it may be - and prompting him to deepen the connection instinctually.

To see himself through Elidibus's eyes is an impossibility, for no one could possibly see such _value,_ such _worth_ in one such as him. But skepticism has no place here. He might as well doubt his own feelings as Elidibus's recognition of _who he was_ within _who he is._ The Emissary makes plain to Nabriales that he is recognized and appreciated. _Seen._ And so it brings him low as he realizes he need not fear whether he will succeed in creating a place he belongs, _for he already belongs here._

The whisper of a name in response to his own undoes him.

Another wall falls, and he makes a decision. Elidibus should not feel so alone. He bears too much to carry the burden of loneliness atop it all. Nabriales will not stand it a moment longer. And so he demonstrates a conscious understanding and appreciation of the Emissary’s intentions, setting aside in this moment all frustration with how his endeavors play out. He acknowledges his efforts. He _accepts_ him. And, poor as he feels his words may be, he realizes that this, at least, he must utter aloud. It should ring in the Emissary’s ears and soul both.

“I see you, too.”

  
  


Pale eyes ease open, unable to truly focus at this distance but desiring to try regardless. Four words, each dropping like stones and Nabriales can _feel_ the way they strike Elidibus. The way they carry _weight_ to a man already off balance by the permission - no, the gift, it was a _gift_ \- given. It did not matter that Elidibus already had the knowledge; retaining his memories as he did, he knew Nabriales's personal name - but this was different. This was permission in _this life,_ given by _this man,_ and he does not regret for a moment the gift of his own name in return.

But to be recognized, oh, to be seen. The impact of the words spreads a sudden almost coolness, the wash of stark _relief_ virtually punching out all of the air in the Emissary's chest. It bleeds through where they are connected, sharp in its strength, and though he tries to hold the surge back - to keep from swamping the other Ascian - he cannot, not entirely.

Another hand is lifted to frame Nabriales's face, fingers still interlaced but slid around to accommodate the new position. One gloved, one bare, and Elidibus opens his mouth to speak, more breath than words. First, his own name, kissed along the surface of the other's soul, chased by that sacred gift. Nabriales's name hangs from Elidibus's tongue, and he speaks it in a sigh, breath sliding over the other's face. It lays heavy in the air between them, resonating both in ears and in the very essence where they are joined.

The aurora dances in the sky above them, stars beyond swirled as precious gems throughout the heavens, and Elidibus shifts closer, the barest caress of white on black.

  
  


Nabriales's heart swells at the Emissary's response to his efforts. It is as much as he had hoped - more, even - and even as the feedback threatens to whelm him, he embraces it. It is his due, after all, his reward for extending a deliberate kindness to him. In truth, some measure - he hesitates to look too closely at precisely how much - is his own, a response to Elidibus taking his efforts as they were intended rather than misinterpreting his intent or taking it otherwise awry. And it is a surprise as he realizes that his actions have actually benefited them both - making Elidibus feel better did not diminish his own pleasure, but in fact increased it. The knowledge that he has the power to make not only Elidibus but also himself feel _better..._ Well.

Elidibus's other hand on his face makes his breath retreat for a moment; the feel of that precious name against his very self sends it sighing out once more. His own hands disengage, finding the sides of the Emissary's head, his palms curving over cheekbones and fingers slipping into fine hair. The hands spasm, just, at his own name, the brush of white robes on his own.

He smiles, bold from Elidibus's heady regard.

"Say it again."

  
  


Elidibus is still, for a moment, after his hair is threaded by cloth and claw - still enough to feel that faint twitch. The swell of Nabriales is subtle, more like the ease of a dawn than the glaring beat of a noonday sun. Warmth seeps through, the realization that all is not give and take, that together one may feel _more._ And though Elidibus may not express himself as easily as others of his kind may, words have ever been his station.

"If it is your wish," the words drip thickly from his mouth, caught between that contagious boldness and his own instinct to hesitate.

When next he speaks, it is not mere language. It is a melody of one voice, Nabriales's name sung in soul and ghosted on breath, and their contact increases a thousandfold. Mere touch and base mingling, ripples, flexing, and the immense vastness of Elidibus - never diminished, whole from the start - shrouds the other Ascian in a thick blanket of Dark. Not a smothering, it is a wrapping, enfolding two shades of black and violet and their own souls together. Not blending, not a merge, never that trespass without explicit permission, instead it is an aetheric embrace. Tangled together now, knotted up beyond denying though their host bodies stand almost motionless, Elidibus's plain _affection_ is clear.

The two-toned notes bring a refrain, the Majestic's voice once again - communicated, shared in a way since before his memory began. 

Wrapped up in one another's very core, the Emissary shares this too, freely.

  
  


Nabriales gasps as Elidibus indulges him, not speaking his name as he’d requested. No. He _sings_ it within, and Nabriales hears its beauty as he worships it with his tones. At the same time Elidibus enfolds him, winding him in warm and welcoming darkness. The contact is almost too much, nearly overwhelming in a way that he yet craves more of. He trembles, without and within, at the closeness. The sensation is unparalleled, incomparable; never had he dreamed that compression might be _pleasant_ rather than frightening or an annoyance. Perhaps it is merely because it is the Emissary that holds him, and he has found that he does not fear. He trusts. And so it is soothing, a balm to his heart and soul both, and as he reaches back, twining their essences yet further, he feels almost… replete.

The urge to fully commit, to reveal every fragment, every part of himself, rises. He is no fool; ever Elidibus has waited for him to take the first step. And he begins to realize why; no doubt the unsundered Ascian could simply invade him if he wanted to, could seize his physical form or capture and hold his soul. But it would be a violation of the trust he has so carefully cultivated. Utterly anathema to him, to his intentions. Tempted he is to tumble fully into that darkness, to seek the deepest of possible joinings. And he does not fear that he would be rebuffed or unwelcome. But he realizes he has found a taste of something he likes and stands now to devour it whole rather than savoring it. This is precious, he decides, and it would not do to tarnish it with unseemly haste.

What’s more, the chill of the air about them puckers his flesh; the glorious light show above continues, but the full darkness that has fallen highlights both it and the advancing hour. He realizes he could stay like this, wound about and within Elidibus for hours, days perhaps, and ever find a deeper joy in each minute. But his greater dream, his deeper desire, is to reach completion within a restored world. For then he can stand upon even footing with the Unsundered, with Elidibus. Then he will have time untold to pursue his heart’s desires. For now, he will continue to steal what moments they can find together, to bolster each other’s resolve, to grant strength to the heart to bear more, believe more, hope more, endure more.

With a deep sigh, he lets his arms drop to wrap around Elidibus and his head sink to his shoulder. He rests for a few breaths there, his arms tightening, pulling the shorter man closer yet. His head feels heavy, with thoughts, realizations, emotions shared and discovered, and for this brief time he rests against the Emissary, heart fit to burst, scarce able to contain the joy he has discovered. He will need time, he realizes; time to compose himself before any other may see him, time to examine these feelings and determine where they belong. To tuck them away safely, where he may keep them protected, to re-examine and re-experience them in privacy. But no matter how he may secret them away, he knows that he has undergone an irrevocable change.

Nothing will be quite the same after tonight.

  
  


The aetherial embrace lingers, and from the depths comes a soft chuckle. Elidibus does not laugh at Nabriales, merely amused at how swiftly the other man's mind works. That he would want such a thing so quickly speaks of his deepest nature, though a thrill runs through the Emissary at the idea - he cannot deny that it is _tempting._ There is a slight constricting, a tightening, a pulse almost as if the squeezing of a great many arms within, before carefully Elidibus begins to extricate them from one another. He does not go with the sting of melancholy or regret, no, only with understanding, with happiness - true _elation_ \- at this connection. Though he draws back, he does not remove himself entirely, content to remain pressed against Nabriales.

Their time grows short, and they both know this.

Still, he moves almost in tandem with Nabriales, arms returning the now physical embrace. The snow shimmers in his hair as he shifts, leaning to rest his head upon the taller man's, stark contrast to upswept brown locks. Sighing in contentment, his thoughts remain much less troubled than the Majestic's. Elidibus was ever a level being, and though he would also need to layer his masks once more, he has much less to be shocked about. Perhaps that he was accepted, but dwelling remains useless. The other Ascian is correct in his musings, after all.

By the barest tremble in his fingers, the proof of how the mighty Unsundered is affected becomes revealed.

"We have some time yet," the words are hushed against a black hood. "To perhaps observe the sky. It is what drew your eye initially, is it not?"

  
  


Nabriales smiles against the white fabric as Elidibus chooses again to rest his head upon his own. Slowly, leaving plenty of time for the Emissary to shift, he raises his head until he looks once more into those pale eyes, glimmering in the light of the moon. His fingers find Elidibus's own; they, too, tremble, but once pressed together the involuntary movements cease as they find strength in one another.

“I suppose we do, and glad I am of it. Truly a sight to behold.” He tips his head, his smile warming, growing, and even with their souls only lightly connected it is apparent what has drawn Nabriales's eye in truth. The smile turns secretive, playful, and he turns his eyes heavensward. One hand releases, sweeping upward in dramatic fashion. “Then let us observe, and remember. Someday, when we see this same fire in the heavens of a complete world, we may look back to this evening with fondness.” He turns an expectant glance toward Elidibus.

  
  


To exist as an Ascian is lonesome, they few rallying against the lies perpetrated by a false goddess. Strength shared is no small boon in this daunting endeavor, and Elidibus draws from Nabriales as he, in turn, is shored up by the Emissary. Different, perhaps, in the methods, but the result remains undeniable with the new peace found in host bodies. For long moments do their eyes catch, and once more there is the faintest _shift_ in the world. 

Theatrical, Nabriales is, and Elidibus finds his sight drawn to the arcing motion of the gesture, the metal of those claws catching the starlight, and looks beyond towards the spectacle above them both. 

A beat, "Such a thing would be remiss of us to forget, indeed." Eyes flick to the side, meeting the look with a pregnant pause, and that signature smile winds its way once more onto Elidibus's face. "Such beauty is not easily overlooked." Nabriales is not alone in his admiration of his fellow Ascian, the Emissary noting the way colored light sparkles over styled hair and high cheekbones, thrown so by the earrings worn by the other man. Whether or not the intent was for that result, Elidibus _observes,_ memorizing more than just the aurora.

Fingers squeeze, just barely, sight returning to spot a particularly wild blaze of color in the heavens. "Perhaps in the interim what details I remember could serve, should you desire to share in them." Perhaps Nabriales would choose such a thing, and the thought causes that smile to spread within, warmth trickling down and across.

  
  


Greedy eyes devour Elidibus's every gesture, every nuance of expression as he speaks. Again the satisfaction wells inside as pale eyes turn upon _him_ before speaking of beauty, and he could not have hidden his grin had he tried. He returns the perusal, the admiration; almost chameleoid the Emissary is, gleaming brighter and dimmer, green and red and blue with the heavens’ fire. Pale skin, paler eyes, and hair and garb as white as snow - all take their cues from the beauty around them. And yet, all are beautiful on their own. Slowly, Nabriales leans closer, transferring their joined fingers from one hand to the other so he may wrap an arm around the back of the Emissary’s shoulders.

“I can think of nothing I would cherish more.” He leans closer, a warm, rapturous smile brightening his face.

  
  


Metal does not bite into flesh; it is pressed firmly yet pleasantly into Elidibus's back and shoulders. There is the faintest spark of _something,_ but it is not the time for such things and so he quiets that portion of his being. They are both transfixed by one another and by the sights above, around, and the Emissary chances another uncoiling of his inner self. He reaches out, not merely leaning against but skimming the surface of Nabriales's soul. 

But he does not reach further. It is enough, tonight, to have just this.

Sharing in both heat of soul and body with the taller man, Elidibus opens his mouth to speak. He is no Speaker, no, yet his station has lent him expertise to excel in this field. Cadence almost musical, he begins to detail the skies above Amaurot - and beyond, distant lands far from their fair city, sights from a world when all was still _right._ This he would give, this he would share, for Nabriales deserved to have it.

  
  


As the evening’s chill grows they draw more closely together, snuggled close both physically and aetherially. For once Nabriales forgoes the sound of his own voice, listening in content fascination to the scenes the Emissary describes, inscribing them in his heart - as well as the sound of the voice, the feel of fingers in his own, the gift of a body nestled close to his. Slowly the glory fades from the heavens, the phenomenon dimming away and dying, but the two Ascians barely notice, wrapped up in one another and memories of the past.

  
  


.

.

  
  


When next they meet Elidibus is fully enveloped in his duties with no time to spare. Cowl in place around his mask, he chooses only to show the aloof persona of the Emissary - as is required of him. Their work comes before all else, His freedom and completion the top attention. Nabriales arrives to see the white robed Ascian in deep conversation with Mitron and Loghrif, and with his attention fully mired he spares no glance towards the Majestic.

  
  


Trailing behind Lahabrea, Nabriales's lips tighten at a casually issued order. He mutters a sullen acknowledgement, but he has eyes only for the white-robed Ascian across the room. His gaze lingers, hoping that the mask will turn toward him, just a few degrees. He follows Lahabrea, suddenly nurturing the hope that the unsundered Ascian’s business will involve the Emissary, or at least take their path across his line of sight.

Lahabrea turns back to him, and he wrenches his head around, realizing he has fallen a step behind. Praying the heat in his cheeks is not visible, he keeps his attention more fully on his “superior,” though he cannot keep from stealing the occasional glimpse as they make their way across the dim room.

  
  


Their presence announces the new arrivals, but Elidibus cannot break from his tasks. The situation on the First requires his full attention with how it has turned, the pair before him asking advice for how to proceed now that their schemes have gone awry. He begins to make plans, silently, should the worst come to pass. Though he yearns to steal a glance at Nabriales, he cannot, dismissing the desire in favor of renewed focus as he deals with the topic at hand. It takes an effort, unseen by all, to keep his sight fixed between those who stand before him.

Lahabrea turns away from his involved discussion, his steps taking him - and soon Nabriales - away. Ever the placid Emissary, nothing is revealed upon his face. There is a pang of disappointment, but it is smothered by the concern Mitron and Loghrif direct at him and waylaid by his own involvement, his own famed worrying. The Ardor first; there would be an opportunity in time, should he be patient.

  
  


Nabriales hides his disappointment when none of his glances reveal a diversion in the Emissary’s attention. Just as well, probably; by the tension in the small group, something serious is going on. Still, he cannot keep worming threads of doubt from creeping into his mind, his heart. The Emissary truly does focus his entire energy on the Ardor. No doubt he recognized Nabriales's frustration and saw that intercession would increase his efficiency and effectiveness in bringing about the next Ardor with Lahabrea. He sighs as he follows the aggravating Ascian through a portal to their next destination.

.

.

The next meeting is simultaneously precious and awful, for he tags along with Lahabrea as he goes to discuss the defeat of Mitron and Loghrif, standing now face to face with the Emissary. His typical annoyance is cooled, brought to solemnity by the reminder that mortals can cause no end of trouble for them. And so he stands in thought, concern to be entirely honest with himself, as the two Unsundered discuss the situation and how it might be salvaged. Only from the side of his vision does he dare to study Elidibus; even he is not so selfish as to try and catch his eye during such an important discussion.

  
  


Eventually the conversation comes to a close, Lahabrea concluding their talk and turning away. When he does, there is the barest sigh from the Emissary, as if a great weight has settled on his shoulders, and he then turns to look upon Nabriales. Warmth breaks across his features upon seeing the taller man despite the subject at hand, and Elidibus allows himself this brief moment of connection. A smile pulls up at his lips, similar to the one seen so frequently, but _more,_ warmer, fond. He takes a chance - the events of the First spurring him on - and there is an almost undetectable touch as he unfurls himself to stroke, just once, along the soul of Nabriales.

  
  


As Nabriales turns to follow Lahabrea, eyes downcast, he catches the Emissary's glance from the corner of one eye and looks up. He stops, arrested by the warmth of the smile that spreads across those pale lips. He shoots a hasty glance over his shoulder at Lahabrea; he seems preoccupied, still thinking. Slow, tentative and hesitant, his own smile spreads across his face, a bit lopsided but genuine. Just as he would have turned to leave, he feels a barely-there touch on his soul. The smile blossoms, and were his mask not in place Elidibus would see the drawn brows relax a bit, softening his expression.

But with souls in contact, even as lightly, as briefly, as this, sight is not strictly necessary. His relief, his hope, the joy he feels at the Emissary’s gesture, all dance through the connection as he reaches back. He lingers, debating deepening the touch, but Lahabrea’s brusque summons and gathering frown cut the moment short. Smile dropping away, he turns to follow, giving Elidibus one last brief grin and raising a hand in silent farewell once the Speaker turns his back again.

  
  


Elidibus watches them go with a lingering look; he cannot help but hope that His Dark Grace would keep the two of them safe, no matter His broken state. The wave of farewell brings color to his cheeks, just quick enough for Nabriales to catch before Lahabrea ushers them both through a portal and on to places unknown. A deep breath is taken in the Emissary's newfound solitude, the alterations of plans, plots, schemes rapidly forming. This was to be a setback indeed, yet all was not lost for the First. There would be no repeat of the Thirteenth shard; he would see to that.

Before he goes, he spares a final thought to Nabriales, his eagerness. Patience, he reminds himself, there was work to be done. They would have time soon enough.

  
  


.

.

  
  


Nabriales glances over as a soft displacement rings out. His gaze lingers on recognizing the new arrival as Elidibus, but Lahabrea’s voice drags his attention back.

“I mean it, Nabriales. I know you are eager to test your strength, but you do not realize how strong the Warrior of Light has become. Observe only! If you must, you may defend yourself, but do no more.”

He sighs. “Understood. Will there be anything else?” His eyes slide to Elidibus, who waits patiently for their conversation to terminate.

“That is all. Keep me informed of any developments which threaten our plans.”

With a nod and a final glance at Elidibus, Nabriales disappears. But he does not go far. It is night-time, late; he left the Warrior of Light sound asleep, and they will not awaken for several hours. And while it simply is not worthwhile to flaunt Lahabrea’s orders openly, he can still fulfill the spirit of his instructions while lingering invisibly. The work will not suffer; this he believes with all his heart as he creeps cautiously back, remaining incorporeal.

And he does wish to see Elidibus, if just for a few minutes.

  
  


Nabriales comes within earshot of the two Unsundered just as Elidibus steps forward to speak with Lahabrea.

"The work in the north is progressing nicely. What of Eorzea and Hydaelyn's Champion?" he speaks familiarly with Lahabrea, almost candidly.

  
  


"Nabriales has his eye upon the Bringer of Light. The Scions will make no move but that we will be aware of it. And the preparations to destroy their organization are nearly in place." Lahabrea smiles; one hand rises. "Once we shift a few more pieces, we need only await the most opportune moment. With them out of the way, the Ardor's success is all but assured." He sighs. "With the First in dire straits, we must not delay. Are you certain you have all you need?"

  
  


That dangerous smile cuts across the Emissary's face. "All that is required has been obtained. We must needs be patient, despite the constraints of time, and all will fall in place as we have arranged." The sight of Lahabrea behaving as he once was, even in a glimpse, steadies Elidibus. "I have gathered the necessary participants from the First; they only await my word."

A thoughtful pause. "What of the key? Have you contingencies in place?"

  
  


"Such as they be," he rumbles. "Since only you and I can access their headquarters, I suppose it must fall to me to acquire it, should it prove necessary. Of course," again the smile, "once their organization is shattered, we have no reason to leave it for the scavengers."

In the shadows, Nabriales's focus shifts abruptly; no longer studying the white-robed Ascian, he now listens intently to the topic of their conversation.

  
  


"Much like the Horn, it will fall once more into our possession, as it ever was meant to," and Elidibus reaches out, placing a hand upon the Speaker's shoulder. "Tupsimati has spent too long beyond our grasp." The fingers squeeze just slightly, though his mask - figuratively as well as physically - remains fixed in place.

"Do have care after they are brought low; cornered beasts bite much more swiftly."

  
  


The Speaker softens marginally at the touch, the tightness in his lips gentling for a moment, but the Emissary's final words make him stiffen again. "Well I know it." His lips twist at the reminder, however unintentional, of his recent defeat. "Inform me if our plans change such that we must retrieve it." He disappears into shadow without a further word, leaving Elidibus ostensibly alone.

  
  


Bereft of support, Elidibus allows his hand to fall to his side, shoulders seeming to draw up and tighten. The sigh he heaves is a private one, and he allows the _pain_ to hiss out alongside. No one is there to hear his lament, after all. 

"Where have you gone, Lahabrea?" His musing is all but lost in the empty space. "No matter. If it yet falls to me, so be it," not bitter, no, but close. Another layer is added to his façade, his care visibly disappearing as he stifles his emotions.

  
  


Nabriales hovers, torn. He wants with sudden fierce desperation to comfort Elidibus, to soothe his pain the way the Emissary had soothed his frustrations before. But he knows this was not truly intended for him to see, and moreover the pragmatic Emissary might not appreciate his rationale for remaining behind after his dismissal. It is with pain that he withdraws; only the promise, clutched close to his breast, that he will find a way to tend this hurt at a later point enables him to slip away and return to check on the Warrior of Light.

  
  


Though he need not breathe, Elidibus takes a long, steadying inhale regardless. Something tickles his periphery, but when he turns to focus upon where, there is naught but the scenery to greet his senses. But he has tarried for too long as it is, and with a whirl of shadows he, too, is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weave begins.


	2. Skein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skein: A length of thread or yarn, loosely coiled and knotted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under and over.

No. No, this was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. _It shouldn't even be possible._ Nabriales strains against the prison of white crystal with every iota of remaining power within him. Horrid light streams into the auracite, filling it with a blinding, agonizing glare. It burns, searing into his soul; frantically he shields against it.

"If only we had... a bit more aether..." The voice is followed by scraping noises, a footstep, another.

Just when it seems he might prevail, might break free and escape, the pressure of light swells, increases, beginning to chafe away his outer edges. Horror and fear rise, choking him, and he cringes away from the incandescent destruction.

"Wait-" he cries, reaching out in panicked desperation, seeking any means of escape, any way to survive the light that will surely obliterate him. "Help me!"

Deep inside his soul, a connection sparks to life, a gossamer thread connecting his soul to another. To Elidibus's. With the force of terror fueling him, he grasps it for all it is worth, clinging to it.

"Please... I don't want to die!"

  
  


When the bolt of alarm reaches Elidibus, he had just been returning to their stronghold following another frustrating conversation with the Archbishop. It douses him with the ice cold spike of secondary **fear,** _shrieking_ into his mind, and with barely a thought of thanks towards His Grace for the timing he turns on the spot and hurls himself into shadow.

Nabriales. Pain. _Terror._

Everything is blinding when he arrives, unseen, in a corner of the Solar. There is no time for plans, he has but moments - less - and he sweeps forward. Hydaelyn's Champion hauls their arm back to deliver the fatal strike of light and Elidibus _leaps_ just as they bring their might to bear.

Light carves a path over his soul, burning away whole swaths of his surface.

Teeth grit in a snarl, of determination, of pain, and he bodily blocks the assault.

Avenues slam shut within his mind and he spares not a glance towards they who would take up arms rather than listen to reason. The cursed crystal is in his grasp - _Nabriales_ is in his grasp - gold claws skittering over the smooth surface as he shields the other Ascian from the onslaught with host form and unfurled soul alike.

Creating another portal takes no time at all yet feels like eons with the ravages clawing over his being. Though She is not here, Elidibus imagines the sound of Her laughter at one of Zodiark's servants being maimed so. But he is successful in the end, and soon both he and the laden auracite clatter to the ground within their stronghold.

Silence roars around them, deafening after the howling light, and is broken only by the harsh pants of the Emissary. His breath hisses through his teeth at the pain, both physical and _deeper,_ remaining on his knees, hunched. It had all happened so fast that Elidibus's mind still reels, hood askew and slipping down, white hair messily spilling forth.

"Nabriales," hoarse, a gasp. "You-" his voice is choked off with a grunt of pain, but he manages to lay eyes upon the crystal.

  
  


Nabriales reaches toward Elidibus with the desperation of a drowning soul grasping at every potential source of succor; it is not with expectation of salvation, but blind survival instinct. When he first feels the Emissary’s presence, he thinks him some dark angel come to usher him to the lifestream. But though the final blow swells incandescent in the room, it does not strike him - something blocks it. His prison jolts, jostles, and before he can parse what exactly has occurred he falls through reality into quiet.

Light no longer ablates his self, but he does not cease his struggles. He cannot fully see, cannot act with freedom, and - as he has just learned - he is terribly vulnerable in this crystalline gaol.

Elidibus's voice halts him - shocks hope to his core as he realizes he is _safe._ Oh, _merciful Darkness,_ he will survive this. Still keen to be free, he resumes his efforts, extricating himself and building his power to burst fully free, now with determination rather than desperation.

  
  


Shuddering breaths heave through the Emissary's frame as he finally gets his legs underneath himself again. Thoughts still racing, he moves, and before he can suppress them pained sounds are pulled from deep within. Catching up to himself, the fervor, the fear, slowly melts away at the intense _anger_ he feels.

"Nabriales, why did you confront them?" His voice is a rasp, staring at the crystal as the shadow swells within it. "Quite explicitly you were told to _avoid confrontation,_ and yet here I find you quite involved."

He draws himself up further, lecture building on his tongue, "Had I not intervened you would have been _erased._ Are you not aware?"

  
  


Nabriales's efforts slacken as he registers a sound - pain. He stops, stretching out, trying to _feel_ what has happened. Is Elidibus hurt?

His worries swell at the sound of the Emissary’s voice; far from its usual rich smoothness, it is rough, abraded. He cringes - _there_ is the dreaded lecture - and redoubles his efforts to free himself. Unable to see - though well he can imagine the hard line of the Emissary’s mouth, the stern posture - and unable to speak in his defense, having none that would suffice, he can but listen as he works toward freedom.

He cannot help but flinch at the harshly bitten “erased,” cringing from the memory of his near-demise. Heart aching, echoing with the agony of recent memory, he realizes he still clings to the connection between them. It is with bitter self-loathing, the plain knowledge of his _unworthiness_ that he forces himself to release the lifeline.

  
  


The severing of the connection hits Elidibus in the chest with a punch of force, and as he doubles over it occurs to him how much he had been leaning upon that thread. He cannot feel Nabriales further than his presence within the crystal, and the worry _digs_ at him, unable to examine the state of the other Ascian despite his focus.

"You would have been lost," still angry, but softer now, more full of honest pain. 

"Why?" almost plaintive.

  
  


Finally - _finally_ \- he breaks out, his darkness overwhelming the crystal’s purity and shattering it into sharp purplish shards. He reforms, pouring out a semblance of a physical body before Elidibus, landing heavily upon the platform. For a moment he just recovers, torn between horror and relief. Eager to be gone, to lick his wounds in solitude, he raises his head.

To his surprise, it is not anger which turns the Emissary’s lips. The pain he assumed he had misread in that expressive voice is written clearly in their agonized twist. His hood is askew, the ordinarily pristine robe rumpled and scuffed. Worse, his soul - his gleaming, glorious soul - is damaged, light’s wounds plainly visible, worse even than the damage Nabriales himself had suffered. The realization - Elidibus had been _hurt_ because of him, and _he had made it even worse by pulling back_ \- hits him in the chest, and he feels his own lips clench and twist, unable to hold back his misery.

“Why do you care?”

Afraid, so afraid of the answer - why did he ask, foolish! - he turns his head down, aside, preparing to teleport away.

  
  


The question rings through the Emissary's mind, and perhaps it is the pain that blurs his judgement. Perhaps it is the void of a connection where one had been moments ago, the yearning to fill that once more, the knowledge that Nabriales had almost been destroyed - in a way they had never seen before, perhaps _irrevocably_ so. The other Ascian has let slip his masks and the conflicted agony, the self-loathing plain for all to see, and Elidibus moves.

One step forward, two. A third.

His mask is ripped away and cast aside, the sharp sound of red striking stone ignored as he advances. His gloves too are unceremoniously discarded, the soft rustle and clink of fabric and claws on stone marking his steps. Heedless of how Nabriales himself is not bared - mask and hood firmly in place - Elidibus for once does not think before he acts. It is not the time for that, it is time for impulse and the proof through _actions._

"This," breathed, apprehensive.

White robes crowd black and fingers skim past jaw and cheeks to bury themselves in hidden hair. Elidibus pulls, not a wrenching but hard enough to force Nabriales to face him, before leaning up to crush his lips to the taller man's. It is not gentle, it is desperate and full of buried emotion that cascades forth. Elidibus presses against Nabriales, trying to communicate not with words but with something more base, and he so wants the Majestic to _understand._ Despite how it aches, shooting sharp pains through his essence, he reaches out and brushes against the other Ascian.

Walls down, vulnerable, Elidibus _hopes._

  
  


Nabriales starts at a sudden sound, head coming around in alarm. Elidibus is almost upon him - his mask and gloves who knows where, their absence the source of the sound - and he almost reels back. But hope - a tender, miniscule seed that somehow survived the winter of his failure - sends forth a shoot, rooting him in place. And so he watches, agape at the Emissary’s reckless, nearly violent unmasking.

His eyes snap wide behind the mask as Elidibus reaches up to him, all grasping and tangling fingers; there is no resistance in him, just acquiescence as he is pulled close. Warm, hungry lips seal against his. He gasps sharply through his nose, his own mouth going slack against Elidibus's for a second. He trembles in his grasp as the world falls into a new alignment - he _is wanted,_ somehow, _craved_ \- and then he returns the kiss passion for passion, emotion for emotion, desperation for desperation.

All thought flees his mind as he reaches back, hands clutching blindly, pulling closer, needy. A sound slips out, want and relief, as Elidibus reaches out to him, as souls meet once again - mere moments apart felt like an eternity - and Nabriales latches on. His knees go weak and suddenly he is leaning on Elidibus, relying heavily on him for his stability. Even knowing he demands too much, more than he should, more than he deserves, he cannot stop himself from twining his soul with the Emissary’s, seizing that connection once again in a fierce, possessive grasp.

Heart pounding in confused and undeserved bliss, gasping for breath, he finally pulls back, not finished, but needing to speak, to give voice to the chaos swelling in him. He pulls his mask off, hood falling down, eyes seeking Elidibus's, searching, wondering. He draws a shuddering breath.

“But why?”

  
  


Elidibus does not speak his answer, naked truth laid bare in his eyes. The answers Nabriales seeks demand far more than mere words, spoken language having its uses but failing them both at this moment. Instead he wraps Nabriales up in another aetheric embrace, beyond wanting now - no it is _needing_ he realizes despite how the contact is tender, like probing a bruise, a sore. It throbs and soothes at the same time, Emissary uncaring of how much is demanded of him - he gives, he gives and gives and gives and-

And takes.

Though he is leaned upon in both soul and physical form, he finds support there as well. Perhaps not enough as he sways in place and unbalances, the adrenaline in his host body draining away and leaving him unsteady. Though it had not been enough to kill him - not in _true_ danger, no, not even enough to harm him as far as had been done to Lahabrea, the toll had been taken regardless. He topples backwards, unyielding in his grasp on Nabriales and dragging the other man down with him.

Care. Want. Warmth. Connection. _Desire. Love._

Layers peel back, more than ever before, and the beating heart of Elidibus is revealed. He pulls the other man down once more, more gently this time, the kiss adoring and full of all he cannot say. The time for patience was at an end, and by His Grace they had this time - relief welling up now, he would have carried on had Nabriales been destroyed but he knows he did not _want_ to, and now he would _not need_ to. 

Hands clutch tighter, and a soft whine escapes his lips.

  
  


Nabriales's wondering is answered not with words but actions. Elidibus's devotion shines from his eyes as he responds to the desperate embrace upon his soul with boundless generosity. Both souls ache, wounds of light burning yet, and Nabriales presses what healing he can manage to Elidibus, their torn edges finding a sort of completion in one another. Nabriales shudders as he feels the other Ascian’s _need_ for him; it is as though his mastery of earth has been turned on him, the ground suddenly unstable beneath his feet.

The world tilts and - oh, no, no, he's _actually_ falling; his hands punch out instinctively, slapping the ground, trying not to drop the full force of his weight on Elidibus's form. Uncaring of his caution, Elidibus's grasp on him pulls him close with unyielding determination, and he goes the rest of the way down, tumbling into him body and heart both. Tenderness enfolds him, desire and love undeniable in the Emissary’s soul, and he pours his own heart back out, spilling careless devotion, desire, craving, and yes, love - carefully hidden and held, now revealed almost shyly and only in response to Elidibus's unwavering offering of the same.

Again Elidibus draws him into a kiss, stealing his breath, winding arms around him, and he groans in response to the warmth of the Emissary’s welcome. His body stirs; he did not realize how he needed this acceptance, and he seeks more of it mercilessly. His mouth is demanding, lips plucking at Elidibus's; he shifts his weight, pressing down harder. The elaborate ornaments hold Elidibus's shoulders off the ground despite his pressure, and Nabriales brings a hand around, glove wisping into dark energy as his elbow braces on the ground. His hand cradles the Emissary’s head, fingers combing into silken locks as he tips him gently, the new angle allowing him deeper access.

He swallows a whine from Elidibus's lips as relief floods them both; closely pressed as they are, emotion calls to emotion so deeply it becomes difficult to pinpoint the origin. Elidibus's swelling relief that Nabriales was not destroyed and his own joyous disbelief at his survival grow almost at once. Remorse rises in him, that he misjudged the situation, that he made Elidibus worry so, _that Elidibus was hurt because of his miscalculation,_ and he extends a promise, embedding it in his soul and Elidibus's at once: he will be more careful. For he has something he cannot bear to lose, a heart he must not break.

Completion, he realizes, can be found even in an incomplete world.

  
  


Something unspools from Elidibus as a promise is planted deep within him, placed there by another - by _Nabriales_ and oh, how it grows something new. Germination, taking root in that lonely, isolated heart and pushing forth new, fresh growth that chases away the stagnant passivity the Emissary was so renowned for. Threads fly free heedless of their frayed nature, singed edges spinning into a tapestry regardless. It weaves together, this organic malleable thing that _is_ Elidibus, drawing in the roots of this vow and anointing them with drops of the most precious color. Drops become a trickle, a flood, eternity wrung into liquid streams and falling to crystallize over the deepest parts of he who would be joined, here and now.

And so goes that immense, dark soul, rising from the depths like a monster stirred.

Gravity has shifted and so have they, shadows licking under robes and across skin, seeping into their senses - the discarded marks of his station vaporize and Elidibus presses, probes, latching strings of himself into pieces of Nabriales. The hard ground is replaced with exquisite linens and soft pillows as the Emissary takes them away, gone between one blink and the next.

Inky black bleeds from his form in this lightless room. It _writhes,_ there one heartbeat and gone the next. 

Cloth rustles when Elidibus presses back with unforeseen strength. He moves in Nabriales's hold, up, over, until they both lie on their sides. Fingers roam, greedy to memorize the form the other Ascian has chosen. He licks into that wanting mouth, supping upon the source of that mischievous grin - how long he had wanted this with each glimpse of that crooked smile.

The tapestry is edged in filigree, delicate emotions dancing around one another in intricate spirographs. At the center is a song, the words Nabriales, the melody Nabriales.

Wanted. Desired. _Cherished._

"Allow me to show you how," breathed between a language of gentle moans and lips and tongue and teeth.

  
  


Nabriales's breath catches in his chest as he feels his gift awaken something in Elidibus, prompting growth, change, a blossoming. He marvels, breathless, as it swells and flows into something nigh unimaginable. Glorious. He wonders if he, too, will be so vast and consuming one day. But the thought bears no jealousy, only admiration and intoxicating hope.

He cleaves to Elidibus as he delves greedy tendrils into Nabriales's soul; each is seized in an eager grasp and drawn deeper. Nabriales responds with seeking strands of his own, an endeavor to bind them ever closer together. Entwined, he is carried safely through space as the Emissary teleports them; finery is noted and appreciated briefly before he returns his attention to the Ascian in his arms. Breathtaken; he is breathtaken as darkness wreathes Elidibus's form, flickering more felt than seen in the darkness. He shivers each time it kisses over him, pressing hungrily against the Emissary, savoring the feel of him.

His hands cling in worship, exploring the curvature of muscles - surprising on an emissary of peace, but clearly they serve him well - especially as Elidibus turns them, rotating until they lie facing one another, upon their sides. Any other doing the same he might have resisted, but Elidibus has demanded nothing of him beyond that first, desperate kiss, and he is curious. He returns the other Ascian’s exploration, fingers trembling with eagerness. As Elidibus claims his lips, he brings his other hand up, fingers sliding along that jaw, cradling his face, drawing them ever closer.

Within, Elidibus winds him in snares of beauty and song, each revolution wrapping him more securely in his charms. Nabriales, entranced, seduced, does not even consider struggling, enraptured by the regard Elidibus shows. Ever he has felt himself undervalued… no more. The reverence that cradles him now makes him wish to improve, to be _better,_ to be certain he is worthy.

The low-voiced request, wedged between entreaties physical and aetherial, brings a flush to his cheeks. Eagerness pours forth in response, and in this tender place he does not hide it.

“Oh… I would like that.” His words are gasped, slipping from panting lips. For once, he lets himself succumb to another, the warmth of _trust_ buoying him.

  
  


The way they reach is expounded, expanded, filaments plumped and encouraged - and when they are fed fat on one another, Elidibus takes them and _braids them together._ The melody beckons Nabriales, urging _him_ to join in, to harmonize in this duet. Entwined indeed beyond unknotting, at this moment no force could separate them. Nor does Elidibus wish to be. But he does not have Nabriales where he desires.

Not just yet.

The acceptance - encouragement against his lips, and oh, by His Grace is that sweet - spurs the Emissary onwards. What he has been given is to be treasured, trust seeping through their bond. Saccharine it tastes on his tongue and he presses even further into the Majestic, his own trust an emanation of _heat_ from the navel of the song. Turning further, he has Nabriales on his back now, and Elidibus bears down upon the other man.

But he does not smother.

No, to be fully submerged as the risen Ascian is, to be _surrounded_ inside and out, is to be enveloped. Floating in a sea, protected, _wanted._

Warmth. Wonder. Want.

Elidibus leans down, recapturing Nabriales's lips _hungrily_ now, yet not overly hasty. They have this time, they have all the time they need - they have forever and always. He gives but he _takes,_ fingers moving to ghost over black robes and leaving naught but flesh and smoke in their wake. Skin on skin now, fingers mapping that fine torso below, but Elidibus does not banish his own clothing. No, instead he shifts, dragging that ethereal make over newly exposed flesh, the grazing of gold adornments chasing after.

He murmurs into the mouth of his soon lover, "One such as you is cherished." A hand creeps higher, fingers brushing Nabriales's ear, thumb pausing to brush over understated onyx. The motion is drawn out and repeated, utterly _tender_ as love swirls in those fathomless depths.

Elidibus mouths at that jaw, skimming the soft hair which runs down. "Precious, this moment is. That you allow me this."

  
  


As Elidibus weaves them together in a delightful tangle - no, it is more orderly, more beautiful and _intentional_ than that - Nabriales drives himself deeper in. The intimacy, paired as it is with surety, is intoxicating. He craves more. And Elidibus does not fail to deliver, inviting his participation. In this new dance, strange and beautiful, Nabriales follows his lead. He watches, he studies, and soon he is following along, weaving a harmonious counterpart to the Emissary.

As they turn together, ever closer, Elidibus moves him. Still rapt, watching, he goes pliantly, sighing at the feeling of being pressed down body and soul. The Emissary bears him up, engulfing him, and he indulges him. To his amazement he discovers freedom in the surrender; carried on Elidibus's tides, he feels safe, _private._ Here his soul becomes bold, dancing and spinning, fearing neither judgment nor plunge. Playful, he tugs at the other Ascian, trying to draw him out of his typical calm reserve, to awaken wildness within him.

He moans into Elidibus's mouth as his robes begin to writhe away to nothingness; the glide of fingers over his skin makes him shiver, dark eyes burning up into pale. His chest swells, a deep breath pressing himself _harder_ against Elidibus's hands as cool air washes over every ilm of him as it is slowly exposed. He groans at the tease of gold-chased fabric, goosebumps breaking forth and marching over him, and he cannot keep himself from clutching at the offending robe. His hands rise to frame the Emissary’s torso, thumbs touching, fingers forming a cage just below his ribs, pressing hard against the fabric to feel the form beneath.

His fingertips slide around, digging lightly into the flesh below the winglike adornments as Elidibus _worships_ him, _cherishes_ him. A faint touch over his face, lingering on his earrings, the one thing of _his own_ that he retains within his Ascian garb, leaves him almost as shaken as that first kiss had.

Once again, the open warmth of love in those pale eyes leaves him undone.

He turns his head, twisting to capture Elidibus's mouth with his own. His eyes slide closed in bliss as he caresses the soft lips, savoring the sensation, the taste, the _hunger_ that the Emissary keeps on a firm leash. Within, he continues to watch, though, to adore the beauty that is Elidibus. He gazes into the night sky of his lover’s soul, and the stars reflect in his eyes, shining, dancing with joy and wonder as he opens them again, releasing and lying back so he may admire the vessel as well.

  
  


The Emissary puts on a show when it comes time to undress himself. Slowly, beginning at the outer edges, curls and wisps of white smoke spiral up and away from pale flesh. Inch by inch his form is revealed in front of this audience of one - Nabriales drinking in what he gives so readily - exposing lean, toned muscle on a lithe frame. There is no trace of shame for how Elidibus has shaped this form, yet color floods his face, spreads across his chest, the flush growing as the host body, too, awakens in excitement.

Finally he is fully bare, pushing down with both arms to heave himself back. He, too, desires to look upon Nabriales. That slow smile grows on his face, yet this time it is _sharp,_ dark with tightly leashed lust. The other man teases him from inside, quite spirited as he beckons. Eyes raking over Nabriales under him, the smile turns into a grin.

In a sudden movement Elidibus is on him, mouth latching onto his chest, tongue sweeping over a nipple in tantalizing strokes. The other is flicked and rolled in meticulous fingertips, unoccupied hand slipping down to _tease_ at the skin of his lover's lower belly.

Ever so slowly, one knee creeps upwards to press against the most sensitive, _wanting_ parts of Nabriales's host. Presses, and _rubs._ Amusement flickers through that abyssal dark where they are joined, starbursts of humor. Elidibus eases where he controls himself so rigidly, and his motions grow more heated with teeth as he moves to the other nipple.

He _was_ provoked, after all.

  
  


Burning eyes consume the sight before him as Elidibus unveils his flesh. Nabriales watches eagerly, breath pent in his lungs as his eyes chase the skin revealed, as the Emissary’s garments mist away. Hesitant at first, his hands rise, touching here, there, becoming bolder as the feast before them grows.

The look in Elidibus's eyes as he draws back to gaze down at him sets his blood to boiling.

Bare breaths later the air which had late been so sluggish in his lungs bursts free; with mouth and hand Elidibus plies his sensitive nipples, making him pant and gasp. The brush of long hair falling on his chest only adds to the exquisite torment, doubled as the Emissary’s other hand teases ever lower yet never quite _low enough…_

The brush of Elidibus's knee along the insides of his thighs has Nabriales arching, groaning. He writhes deeper into Elidibus's soul as the knee finally reaches his erection, grinding against his groin. His head falls back, teeth gritted, and he ruts against the leg. His breath hisses out at the redoubled attention over his nipples, and he _feels_ Elidibus's amusement as he is overcome by the surge in pleasure.

For a moment he breathes, body rolling slowly beneath Elidibus as sense returns, as he glories and revels in the Emissary’s dark depths. He raises a hand, tenderly winding fingers through pale locks, his fingertips working reverent circles against Elidibus's scalp, gentle yet insistent encouragement.

He wants _more._

  
  


Nabriales is hungry and so is Elidibus, shifting a few scant ilms to _bite_ and suck fat, red welts onto that sensitive chest. Each love bite is followed by a lick and finished with a kiss, a splash of sweetness lovingly placed. Once more the Emissary's knee _grinds_ over hard, aching flesh, but he is merciful - luckily for Nabriales - and that teasing draws to a close.

Encouragement is met with a predatory smirk and again Elidibus moves, only to crowd Nabriales's space once more. His own arousal drags across Nabriales's leg until he reaches his destination - grinding down with his _hips_ now, one arm as support while the other takes them both in hand.

He squeezes tightly at first, a declaration - he is here, Nabriales is here, they are together still despite the events of before - and gives a single, long stroke of his wrist. Utterly soft, that palm is, uncalloused and _elegant_ as his wrist moves. He falters at this first touch, moan punching out of him and breaking off into a shuddering sigh.

Lips slam back down onto Nabriales's own, and Elidibus kisses him like a drowning man. 

Yet the motion of his hand is _agonizingly_ slow.

  
  


His hand remains wound through Elidibus's hair as bite after bite is laid on his skin; each prompts a groan and an instinctual tightening of the fingers, and each soothing caress of tongue and lips relaxes them once more. His hips, too, move at Elidibus's silent command, his entire body tensing, rising with each pull on his flesh. Though Elidibus wracks his body, at the same time his soul is gentle around Nabriales, tender and enveloping. Within its onyx depths he feels the Emissary’s _devotion_ and sends out his own in response, adding to it his craving for the sensation of Elidibus's skin over his.

The Emissary’s response is a smirk - one with an edge of danger that kicks his heart rate up. A hungry sound bursts from him as Elidibus draws his stiff length in a burning line over his skin; he shudders into the sudden weight pressed hard against his groin. Elidibus's hand seizes them both, sending starbursts behind his eyes as affirmation and joy twine about his soul.

The Emissary’s hand is soft, smooth - the hand of a diplomat, not a warrior. But it is nonetheless strong; as it clenches them together Nabriales cries out, a hoarse sound; his hips try to buck into the touch. There is nowhere for them to go, not with Elidibus's weight pinning him there. Finally the long, graceful fingers begin to move. The other Ascian’s moan at their shared pleasure is gratifying, and Nabriales's own cry rises in a duet of need. They both spend a moment recovering from the intensity of this first caress, and when Elidibus's lips seal over his he presses eagerly into the kiss.

With nips of his teeth and sweeps of his tongue he communicates his desire, his lust for more; again his hips try to move and are thwarted. He communicates his discontent with the Emissary’s languid strokes via a plaintive sound hummed against the mouth devouring his own. His hands likewise cling to Elidibus, worshiping hair and skin alike, trying to encourage the other to greater ardor, a higher frenzy.

  
  


Hasty, Nabriales is _hasty_ and ever pressing for more, ever greedy, wanting and _needing_ with a voracious hunger that Elidibus finds he is all too willing to satisfy. But that whine, that almost _pleading_ sound - has Nabriales ever truly whined for him, _begged_ for him? **_Intoxicating_ ** \- detonates deep within him, setting his veins aflame in a new wash of frank desire. His language moves from the mere meeting of lips to the employ of _teeth_ as he shifts to the side and bites down on Nabriales's fleshy shoulder.

He does not relinquish his hold - be it with his jaw or with his hand, still working them both oh so _slowly_ \- and though his hips give an aborted buck, he manages to shift just enough to get a knee under himself. A small wave of his freed hand has a tiny bottle of viscous liquid appear, and with one hand he skillfully slicks those long, slender fingers. The empty vessel is tossed aside, thudding softly on plush carpet - Elidibus has more pressing concerns.

They are the fingers of a pianist, clever and strong and _searching_ when Elidibus brings them down, slipping low and under. He finds Nabriales's backside, circling his entrance and slicking him up carefully before slipping a finger inside. It takes but a moment to twist, curl and _press._

Teeth withdraw from his shoulder, smiling against the bite mark he's left. Elidibus would give as he was asked.

  
  


A soft sound of complaint as Elidibus's lips leave his - Nabriales follows as that exquisite mouth seals on his shoulder, teeth seizing his muscle in a firm grip. His lips, still hungry, trace the rim of the Emissary’s ear, seize for a moment upon the lobe, then lave over the corner of his jaw. He feels Elidibus shift them as he travels back up that ear but pays little mind, canting his head so his nose sweeps pale locks over the back of the ear upon which he now nibbles.

A soft thump on the floor does not truly register on his consciousness, consumed as it is by the skin beneath his lips, but Elidibus's exploring fingers most certainly do. The swirling pressure about his entrance slackens his jaw, and a groan slips out - a name, a precious gift. A plea. Swiftly the plea is answered as Elidibus presses at his center, gliding in and - oh.

With an ascending cry, almost a question, his head falls limply to the pillow beneath. Suddenly there is not air enough in the room, and his lungs heave as he writhes beneath Elidibus. Pleasure rises precipitously, and his spine bows, throwing his head back as he gives a wanton moan. He barely registers the Emissary’s teeth releasing him as he focuses on breathing, breathing and the pleasure scouring his veins. A harsh breath, another, and he swallows hard, forcing his eyes open to stare sightlessly up, scrambling to grasp the reins of self-control before they slip his grip entirely.

  
  


A small smile grows wider, _hungry,_ and Elidibus curls that finger yet again, pressing - milking, slow strokes designed to _torture_ \- and with relative ease slips a second finger inside of Nabriales. The sound Nabriales had made was something he wants more of, more and more - _insatiably_ so. Those fingers work slowly, stretching and relaxing muscle that tenses with each targeted motion against his lover's prostate. Before long he is able to slip a third finger inside, fucking Nabriales open with still a slow, languid pace.

Yet his other hand does not leave them, slow pumps remaining that way, thumb sweeping across to catch the pre that had formed from them _both_ \- and again when with a twitch more beads from Nabriales. It is the speed that will bring his lover back down, purposefully slow in this, Elidibus ever having a reason for his actions.

Nabriales had come quite close to finishing, after all, and that simply would not _do_ just yet.

The Emissary noses closer, sweeping his tongue over those earrings - he knows how much they mean to Nabriales, he can _feel_ the pulse of it threaded throughout his being - and leaving them with a tender kiss. The sensitive shell of the ear is next, nosing, licking, teeth grazing, _worshipping_ as the other Ascian struggles to not come undone entirely.

A whisper of a name, heated, directly into Nabriales's ear: "More, is that correct?"

  
  


Half-seeing eyes track Elidibus's grin - a smirk, nearly - as a second and then a third finger tantalize with languorous strokes. He cannot withhold the sounds each press of those dexterous fingers wrings from him - in truth, at this moment he can barely withhold his own release. But the Emissary continues to tease, motions that, faster, would send him to fulfillment in a moment drawn excruciatingly out.

He realizes he may have somewhat underestimated the ordinarily mild-mannered Emissary.

Iron-clad determination - not to fall so easily, not to embarrass himself during this first, precious joining - rises, aiding him in drawing inexorably back from the edge. He leans into Elidibus's soul, catching his breath as tender touches feather over his ear; they do not miss the dark earrings, the tug at his lobe a pleasant - and less overwhelming - sensation. He savors the other Ascian’s appreciation, and wonders… the earrings are precious to him, irreplaceable. Much like the Emissary has become… He sets the idea aside for later, tucking it deep in his heart.

Breath tickles his ear, and the whispered tease, the cruel offer of _more_ forces a guttural moan, almost a grunt, from Nabriales. His lips part, panting once more as he strains against that next slow stroke, and he trembles between the heady rush of need and the torturous stimulation Elidibus gives. Damn him for a fool, but he _does_ want more, greedy for completion - but he is also greedy for Elidibus, for the feel of more than just fingers inside him.

In desperation he reaches out, bundling up the molten pleasure in his veins and pressing it against Elidibus's soul, letting the other _feel_ what he does, the quivering agony of bliss that threatens to swamp him with each stroke of that strong yet soft hand, each press of those adroit fingers.

It is a supreme effort to speak, but he makes it. “More, yes,” he gasps, “more of _you.”_

  
  


Elidibus is left shuddering by that primal groan he - him, no other, and that sets his blood to a _boil_ \- pulls from Nabriales, motions faltering as he, too, pauses for a moment to regain an ilm of composure. All is for naught, however, when the ring of what _exactly_ Nabriales wants punches through the layers Elidibus has wrapped him up in and sends sparks throughout his core - electricity shooting down to his groin where his cock twitches and his hand stills, trembles, _squeezes._

A choked, broken thing of a sound rips from the Emissary's throat when it is made apparent _exactly_ what Nabriales is feeling. It is a bestial thing, steady composure rapidly crumbling away in the wake of such powerful _need,_ need for **_him._ ** In a fraction of an instant Elidibus decides that his lover is sufficiently prepared, and pulls his fingers from within to shift their positions entirely.

He is gentle with Nabriales, but when he moves this time it is with _force._

In the span of moments the clenching hand upon their combined arousal releases and Elidibus seizes the other man by the thighs, hauling them up, leaning forward between to swallow the inevitable complaint - the lack of stimulation hits him too, and he soothes with the brush of his heated soul. He allows the bubbling ecstasy to spring forth, having kept it under rigid control, and presses liquid fire to molten heat. 

Slicked hand darts to coat his length and then he guides himself to Nabriales's entrance, pressing in just barely. It takes every ounce of his willpower, body trembling, shuddering - oh by his Dark _Grace_ has he _yearned_ \- to press inside slowly. He wants - no, _needs_ \- this first intimacy to be pleasurable for his lover, and he would not harm Nabriales in the process. Eventually, he bottoms out, lifting his head to cry out in ancient language and _song._

Only the cool air against his mortal body prevents Elidibus from cresting then and there.

  
  


A sinful sound falls from Elidibus's lips as his fingers withdraw; Nabriales gasps as he is left abruptly empty. His hardened length is likewise left unattended, but his lips scarce part on a cry of complaint before they are sealed by the Emissary’s. His reflexive objection is quieted by reassurance painted over his soul, unveiled hunger and effervescent delight as some dam bursts and fails within Elidibus and _desire_ pours forth.

Strong, sure hands move him, positioning, promising fulfillment, and he craves, he _craves_ \- more than pliant, he moves eagerly, lips begging beneath Elidibus's own. The press of his lover’s head at his opening wrings a surge of anticipation from him; his hands seize upon the flesh beneath them, clenching with needful intent. Mercifully, Elidibus begins to move, still slow - for the best, he realizes; much as he wants more, faster, _now,_ he is still close enough to the edge that the ferocity he craves might tip him over it.

The sensation of being filled is exquisite - and the knowledge of _who_ cradles him, _who_ trembles with the strain of self-control as he presses deeper within him ignites him body and soul. A moan, his lover’s name slipping from his lips like a prayer, a benediction, as his head falls back. And still it is slow, a tender, affectionate invasion that leaves his chest heaving, his erection twitching and leaking more precum as they finally seat together, two pieces of a puzzle.

Elidibus's voice is warm, pure, _rapturous_ in Nabriales's ears as he lifts it in joy and wonder. For a gleaming moment he is _sated_ as he listens to the primordial sound, a language that rings truer than ever a mortal tongue could. His hands slide, whispering over skin, caressing up the sculpted chest and shoulders, curving up the neck and then cupping the Emissary’s jaw, his eyes shining into those pale orbs as he drinks in the music of his voice. Again his soul is stirred to dance, to twine yet closer to such beauty, such grace, and he smiles, spellbound, held in thrall by the sound.

  
  


Body trembling, wracked with it, Elidibus sucks in greedy breaths through his teeth as he fights - he would do this right, he had this, he was given this, he _cannot_ squander it - and fights the waves which threaten to capsize even his ancient soul. What emerges is Nabriales's name, drawn out, breaking straight through the center as Elidibus finally calms himself enough to reciprocate the advances of his lover's soul on his. They entwine, tangle, whipped into that frenzy the headstrong Ascian so craved - they dance in leaps and bounds, and as Elidibus's host body draws back to finally _move_ he reaches for something _further._

It is the most trusting of intimacies. The edges of the Emissary's soul blur where he seeks to meld, partially, with that of Nabriales - a true joining between them, beyond even how wrapped up in one another they already are. It is an offer, to join in soul as well as in body, and that he could be given this - the pure elation is clear, spattered across the fabric of his being in electric bursts.

Hips draw back, pulling Elidibus from Nabriales almost completely, before he surges forward in a long, smooth glide to fully hilt himself once more. The pace begins slowly, more languid even than how Elidibus had stroked them together, but it does not remain so for long. A realization - Nabriales is fully relaxed now, _ready_ \- and with a loud keening sound Elidibus buries himself on the next thrust with _force._

Pale eyes finally focus once more, drinking in how Nabriales looks beneath him as his hips begin to snap forwards faster, faster, finally beginning to match the fervor that has lit his soul ablaze. That same blaze practically radiates from within, one hand coming up to hold his lover's hand upon his face, while the other supports his weight.

The smile is fierce on that face, hair falling down to frame the other Ascian, as he angles his hips to strike Nabriales's prostate once more.

  
  


His name on those graceful lips, in that exquisite voice, shakes Nabriales to his core. It is enough that Elidibus joins his dance… but then, to his starving soul’s amazement he is again offered _more._ Elidibus is abundantly generous, extending him the deepest intimacy possible between souls. Nabriales hesitates a bare second, confidence faltering, but he _wants._ And so he mimicks the Emissary’s actions, letting himself merge and blend in a different, deeper way, slow in his inexperience. But he learns quickly, and his excitement grows, rippling and spiraling through his soul - through their joined souls - like drops of ink, motion and color.

The depth of the communion between them makes the slow pace tolerable, but when Elidibus finally _takes,_ finally lets loose, he groans, swamped by the intensity of his _need._ For a few thrusts his head lolls, bobbing in time to each movement before he regains a measure of control. Elidibus is _heat_ and _motion_ and _fervor,_ the pace hard and fast, and Nabriales cannot demand more, for this, here, is everything he has ever needed. 

Burned orange eyes peel open to find Elidibus devouring him with his gaze, clearly pleased with his wanton state. One of his hands rises to cradle Nabriales's own where it caresses that cheek, and Nabriales cannot hold back a groan as heat blossoms beneath his skin, face and chest flushing hotter under the devastating combination of passion and tenderness offered to him. He strains, now, shifting under Elidibus with each furious thrust, abdomen rippling as the muscles tense and release.

A devious smile is the only warning given as Elidibus changes the angle, just a bit, just enough, and a cry forces its way from his throat, throwing his head back and twisting his spine as he peaks abruptly. Heat paints his stomach but he is lost, all but oblivious to anything but the spike of ecstasy through him - and the closeness of Elidibus within his soul as he glimmers like a dark gem afire.

Each harsh gasp, each desperate suck of air, brings him back a fraction, and he realizes he is still clutching Elidibus's face. His own face going hot, he opens his eyes again to see his lover. Fear at what he will see written on that face tries to rise, but Elidibus's soul within him banishes it as baseless before it can grow, and he gives him a sheepish grin.

  
  


Firmly does Elidibus hold Nabriales's hand to his cheek, reveling in that connection as he watches his lover _break_ beneath him. It is not disappointment at such a rapid finish, but a soul-deep _satisfaction_ that floods through him on the heels of Nabriales's pleasure - he slows his movements, milking, drawing out the orgasm until slowly the other man begins to resurface.

A pang of fear is soothed immediately, and that lopsided smile all but brings the thrusting of his hips to a halt. For though the pale eyes _smoulder_ with lust, his face is tender, a rare carefree smile tugging at the Emissary's lips - within he coils closer and finally removes the hand from near his own face to stroke down the side of the other Ascian's cheek. It is achingly full of love, that single caress, and Elidibus imposes exactly what he thinks to Nabriales in both feeling and words.

"A beautiful burst, but I do not believe you are sated quite yet," murmured, breathy.

Fingers trail down that lean torso, dragging through Nabriales's release to bring it up to the Emissary's lips. Eye contact unwavering, Elidibus licks clean his fingers before roaming down, down, until he finds the length of Nabriales, still half hard. Deliberately he strokes, hips rolling in tandem, angled to saw back and forth across that sensitive bundle of nerves.

They were not _done._

  
  


The warm smile on Elidibus's face, the gentle caress he lays on Nabriales's cheek, bring as much reassurance as the soothing within his soul. More than reassurance - love, affection and care, and Nabriales relaxes into the touch, pressing smiling lips lightly to the hand as Elidibus's gentle voice washes over him.

A languid touch, trailed down his front, draws his attention lower, and heat stains his cheeks as Elidibus _tastes_ him with evident enjoyment. His eyes fix on the fingers as they slip one by one between those lips, drinking in the soft sounds made as tongue and lips caress the slender digits - and _by His Grace_ he can suddenly think of other things he wants to see that mouth, that tongue do. His breath comes faster at the mere thought, a soft groan slipping free.

No, he is most certainly _not_ sated yet.

That thought is compounded when the Emissary’s hand finds his shaft, working over the sensitive, needy flesh, trying the limits of Nabriales's stamina as he twitches once more toward rigidity beneath his touch. He tears his eyes off the sinful sight; his member’s flushed head darting out from the curl of those soft, strong fingers in time with the firm strokes pressing against his prostate threatens to send him to completion faster than he wants. No, now he has a measure of control, and he would use it to the fullest.

He locks his gaze instead upon Elidibus's face, tracing the curve of lips, the flush of desire over his cheekbones, fixing it in memory forever. As tender as the expression is, the lust - the need - that underlies it serves to heighten Nabriales's ardor. He smiles, wider, showing his own want both in his expression and within, where their souls are joined - for even if he could not _feel_ it in his soul, he can still see Elidibus's hunger burning in his eyes.

“So _meticulous,”_ he gasps out between the thrusts rocking them in tandem, “so careful. Ever concerned with” - a soft groan as the friction begins to have its way, his length in Elidibus's hand fully hard once more - “with everyone else. Will you not take some pleasure of your own?”

He smiles, the expression wicked, knowing; one hand dips to the Emissary’s abdomen and begins creeping upward. His voice drops, a low croon. “For I certainly wish to please _you.”_

  
  


Tenderness falters, shudders, and _dies_ beneath the onslaught of the man under him - Elidibus makes a noise that sounds more fitting to that of a wounded animal rather than man, and the lust bubbling in his eyes runs over, his face flushing darker, teeth bared in a snarl of _want._ Nabriales would be wicked? Then so shall the Emissary. His grasp tightens on the other Ascian's cock and Elidibus breaks their rhythm with a single sudden, sharp _thrust._

And again. And again. The fervor from before pales in comparison to his movements now, pressing downwards with far more strength than his lean frame had any right to use. Hips meeting Nabriales's backside forcefully with each plunge, his hand mercilessly begins to stroke sensitive flesh. He is unleashed, uncontained, he is hunger and lust and _want_ and all sense begins to leave Elidibus in the way he _takes._

But not just in the physical realm.

The soul of an Unsundered Ascian is immense, far larger than even that of their risen counterparts, and Elidibus - as merged as they are, as entwined as they are - rises up in a tidal wave of Darkness. Nabriales is lifted, swept along, helpless in the _weight_ of such a thing brought to bear. But Elidibus does not smother him, no. He instead _shares._

The sight of Nabriales's wanton cresting, release spurting forth onto his own torso.

The feel of that majestic body below, hot, hard, surrounding him as he gives yet another deep thrust.

The _sounds_ their bodies make together, the slap of skin on skin, the gasps and hitching moans.

The burn within as Elidibus chases his own ecstasy, _dragging_ Nabriales along with him whether the other man was ready to breach that height of pleasure again or not. Teeth find supple skin again and again as Emissary mindlessly marks Majestic, staking claim, the pace of those driving hips somehow increasing yet _more._

A name gifted is repeated, _growled,_ Elidibus calling for Nabriales again, and again. So close, so _very close._

  
  


The look of desire his words engender, the raw sound wrung from that fine throat, are all Nabriales could have hoped for. But he is not prepared for the sudden _onslaught;_ his hand, still climbing the Emissary’s ribcage, spasms as he is _impaled._ The air seems to stick in his lungs, unable to draw or expel breath as he adjusts to this new, gruelling, _amazing_ pace. He is pressed down, taken, _possessed_ as Elidibus finally lets loose. All he can do is cling in desperate need to the Ascian now reaming him, all thoughts of the teasing he had planned now washed away.

He had felt, before, the vastness of the Emissary’s soul flowing around him, bearing him upon its tides. He thought he knew its darkness. It is not until he is borne up, driven along by cresting Dark that he realizes exactly how careful Elidibus has been with him before.

Such an inundation, an overwhelming sheer presence, would inspire fear in him - but for the fact that it is Elidibus.

And so Nabriales is daunted somewhat, but he does not quail from the gifts Elidibus gives him. Each concept, each _experience_ is both treasured and savored, for he can feel how precious they are to his Emissary. He is pressed down yet more as Elidibus shifts closer, his teeth closing over Nabriales's skin in furious demand, even as he works within their souls to bring Nabriales to completion once more - _still_ giving, _still_ so mindful of his lover - and in a flash of clarity he knows how to send Elidibus over the edge.

He presses deeper into their soul-joining, drinking in every sensation, every sight, every onze of lust and ecstasy and need, mingling it with his own pleasure - how incredibly _full_ he is of Elidibus, the feel of the hand clamped over his aching erection, the divine sting of teeth in his skin, the way he trembles at the precipice of another release, the sound of his _name,_ sweet _darkness_ his _name_ and the way it makes his soul resound, chiming in a building echo - everything they both feel and see and hear.

And - as his control falters, as he goes rigid in the throes of a second orgasm, _as he gasps his lover’s name_ \- he feeds it all back into Elidibus.

  
  


Elidibus fucks Nabriales like a man possessed, heart _galloping_ in his host body's chest as that peak rests _just_ beyond his grasp. Reaching, straining, Nabriales's name continues to fall from his lips, slurring together as he loses all sense. Yet Nabriales is not one to remain idle and merely be _taken,_ and the flash of **_all he feels_ ** pressed between them sends Elidibus clear over the edge.

His hips thrust deep once, twice, a last final time before his entire body shudders and bows, forehead pressed to Nabriales's shoulder with a cry. Distantly he moves his hand, milking his lover and feeling the warmth spill onto his fingers even as the taller man's own body milks him. Mortal release and liquid aether _both_ pour from him, broken gasps all but _tearing_ from the Emissary's throat as he fills the other Ascian.

Darkness contracts, constricts, that stygian expanse binding Nabriales's soul tight, tighter, and then something inside of Elidibus _gives._ The shallow merging of before, edges blurred, is **deepened.** Not fully as one, no, but in the thrashing throes of pleasure Elidibus buoys his lover and at the same time blends them together. Color shatters between them, bursting into light and flashing like the aurora they had looked upon so many days ago. The crest is beyond anything mortal, no, more than that, beyond anything a risen Ascian such as Nabriales was capable of.

Yet even as Nabriales gives of himself, so does Elidibus. 

And bound as they are, entwined as they are, it is _love_ rather than erasure that they two find.

  
  


Nabriales's release seizes him mercilessly again, but it is not _just_ pleasure that drags him under with a velvet-over-steel grip. Even as his body contracts in helpless ecstasy, Elidibus spasms, his body caging him… his soul seizing him in a yet-closer aetherial embrace. Tighter it pulls, wrapping darkly around him. Radiant shadow engulfs him, and he yields, opening himself as they merge, commingling deeper and deeper as he reaches full surrender.

He is filled, _more_ than filled as Elidibus spills within him, not just seed but a flood of aether, washing through and into him as he is joined, buoyed, _cherished._ That great soul within and without him is overwhelming, drowning him in fervent adoration, dancing in the form of color, emotion, sound, things for which he has no words. What Elidibus shows him, what Elidibus gives in this moment, this deep unity of body and soul, is so great, so wonderful he struggles to fully grasp it and plumb its depths. An unformed thought, an unformed hope, rises in him - that he will have the chance to try again and again, to explore the depths of this mystery, to perhaps one day reach its source and truly _know_ it - expanding to fill him along with the riot of emotion they share.

Nabriales is incoherent, unable to voice words as his soul sings a wordless song of joy and hope and acceptance and love. Slowly the song resolves, cacophony becoming coherent chords, a coalescing melody. Its building swell brings him back to a place where logic exists, and finally the words form.

_I love you I_ **need** _you you are precious to me I would not_ **_exist_** _but for you and you complete me in ways I did not know were_ **possible** _my love His Grace is great indeed to have given us one another…_

He seizes a deep ragged breath and slowly opens his eyes, smiling. A trembling hand rises to cup Elidibus's cheek, caressing, tipping his face more fully to his own with gentle pressure. When he speaks, his voice is almost solemn, but he laces it with the emotions still roiling in his soul.

He leans close and murmurs his lover's name, singing it with broken, overwrought voice.

  
  


There is a low sound in Elidibus's ears, static and white noise, a droning that has overtaken his consciousness utterly while all other senses remain blanked. He is not aware of how the aftershocks shake his vessel's frame, nor of how he all but collapses on top of Nabriales in their aftermath. He is not aware of the panting cries he makes, nor how they dwindle into silence with the rise of a new sound from within. 

All that is, all _he_ is, is their joining.

The fervent litany rouses him, words of his lover piercing his thoughts with crystalline clarity, and slowly he comes back to his physical form - so focused was he on their souls that it ceased to matter. Such rhetoric is returned, yet not with words; they lay beyond the Emissary still, but with the depth of true emotion, of where they mingle. Love. Devotion. Passion. Trust. A thousand other intertwined experiences all distilled and laid at the feet of the man below him.

His body shakes, slightly, as Nabriales moves him, as warmth blooms from the touch upon his face, and with great effort those pale eyes ease open to meet those of the other Ascian. By His _Grace,_ they practically _glow_ in the dim light, spent though he is, as they _both_ are, yet still Nabriales finds it within himself to speak _his name_ aloud in this, the deepest of intimate moments. 

It takes a small shift, sore muscles and sore threads of Elidibus's soul - the Light's work, still - but worth it to place the most tender of kisses upon those swollen lips. He whispers his lover's name in turn, and both sounds seem to resonate in the empty space around them. 

This moment was theirs, never to be undone.

  
  


Nabriales sighs as Elidibus somehow manages a reverent kiss and a whisper - his name. The precious sound seems to twine with the echoes of his own voice, for while the words may have died away, they yet reverberate in his heart, in their shared souls. He relaxes back with a deep sigh, heavy eyes struggling to stay partway open. But he does not let his hands fall. He is not nearly finished with the feel of his Emissary’s skin beneath his fingertips.

Slowly, ilm by ilm, he begins an exploration. First the face, fingers tracing over fine features as though to memorize them now by touch as well as sight. Then they trail through the hair, stroking and combing, working through it to caress the scalp, then trailing down the rims of his ears. They linger at the corners of his jaw before smoothing down the neck and spreading over his shoulders.

Now that passion is draining away, he too feels aches return, both the plaint of ill-used muscles and the damage from the light making their presence known. But this pain is insignificant next to the wonder he feels at the love he has found, and so he works his hands into tight muscles as he encounters them, seeking to press relief into the physical form at least. Once he is assured that Elidibus has recovered a sufficient degree of coherency, of comprehension, he looks again into those luminous eyes, watching to be sure he has their full attention before speaking.

“Thank you.”

Within, emotion and meaning spirals from the phrase. He is grateful for his salvation; he is grateful that Elidibus _sees_ him. He is grateful that his lover did not let him leave when he would have fled to recover on his own.

He is grateful that he has found this.

  
  


Soft touches upon his skin draw even softer sounds from Elidibus. Leaning into the touches, the way nails drag over his scalp, and _oh_ how this body's muscles ached more than he had realized. The massage draws gentle groans of contentment, and he does not lament pulling from Nabriales, his softening length slipping out easily. Repositioning alongside the other man, he entwines their legs together, exertion still causing trembles throughout his form - yet he does not protest; how can he, with such genuine words spoken aloud?

The Emissary understands nuance perhaps more than any other. A word, a phrase, a single change in tone, can cause negotiations to succeed or fail, and for Nabriales - one who is not bereft of words, no, yet he feels now what the other Ascian had - to gift him with this gratitude is immediately understood, in each emotional layer. He does not respond in acceptance. Voice hoarse, from exclamations, strained from pain or the light, it does not matter, Elidibus presses close to the other man, and speaks.

"I love you."

Shaking hands glide over skin, and he is grateful too - for this, for Nabriales, for a great deal. But he only speaks of love.

Their hearts are as one.

  
  


Nabriales can only breathe a soft laugh as his Emissary cuts oh so adroitly to the heart of the matter. His hands clench to pull them closer yet as he speaks.

“Yes, I suppose that _is_ what I meant.” His lips curve, the wry tone fading from his voice. “I love you.” For a moment he just breathes the air of those precious words, finding it sweet and clear.

Much though he wishes this moment could stretch forever, duty begins to call - his drive to distinguish himself in the service of their god stirs, rearing its head like a great avaricious dragon in his heart. He sighs, raising himself up on an elbow. He realizes he will have to disentangle his soul from Elidibus at some point, but he lingers; he does not _want_ to, not just yet at any rate. Fingers trail up the Emissary’s back and twine through his hair, clinging much like the tendrils of his soul within the other Ascian.

“I suppose I should return to my duties soon. Lahabrea will chastise me for leaving the Warrior of Light unattended.” He slumps, paling, remembering the events that led to their current state. “Oh, bright damnation. He is going to chastise me for a lot more than simply _that,_ isn’t he?”

  
  


The afterglow is something Elidibus has not experienced in quite some time, not entwined, trusting, with another as he is at this moment with Nabriales. The sentiment is shared, he is unwilling to part just yet - though they have ceased their merging, their blending of souls - threads of one another braided together as close as he had made them at the start. A soft hum, of contentment, of appreciation, makes itself known as fingers skim against skin, as they curl into his hair. Yet that nature, wholly Nabriales, of wanting to take action, of wanting to _move,_ begins to show itself once more.

Unlike Nabriales, who is quick to turn his thoughts towards consequences, Elidibus remains even, remains collected. The Warrior would not leave their friends so swiftly, not with the exertion of the day, not with the loss of one of their companions. No, they had time yet, before duty would call for them both.

"It is possible, yes, though I would have your thoughts linger not on _Lahabrea_ in this moment." Confident fingers glide over flesh still slick with sweat, swirling over the other Ascian's backside to stroke against his lower back. Though he may be sated utterly, Elidibus is aware of the appetite Nabriales is known for, and as connected as they are he knows the moment the other man begins to stir once more. His other hand is not idle, reaching to brush along the taller Ascian's inner thighs.

The time for talk would come after; for now, he would put his lover at ease.

  
  


Nabriales's lips twist at Elidibus's words, amusement warring with distaste, and he sighs with irksome forbearance - he cannot voice the complaint, as it was _he_ who first invoked that name, after all. Before he can devise a response, the Emissary steals his breath with clever fingers, his touch seeking out those most sensitive zones. It is immediately clear his lover was paying attention to the reception his earlier touches received; the targeted caresses set his heart to pumping again, his body awakening sluggishly at the suggestion of more pleasure. Deftly Elidibus redirects his hunger for glory into a more carnal one; his touch, his smile are… not jealous, no, not quite. But he demands the attention he has fully earned by his attentive ministrations, and Nabriales cannot do any more or less than give him his due.

Swiftly all thoughts of gain, all worries of reprimand fall away, supplanted by the sensation of soft, strong fingers teasing over his skin. He swallows hard, the cadence of his breath changing, and shifts to return the favor. His fingers disentangle from the fine hair, moving in slow brushes down his Emissary’s shoulder, tracing ribs one by one until they reach the hip. His breath hitches as the fingers upon his thigh work closer to his groin, and he fights to keep his voice level.

“Do not think I haven’t realized what you are trying to do,” he murmurs, the low, warm tone _just_ interrupted by the barest of gasps.

  
  


A soft hum, pleased, thrums through Elidibus's chest as Nabriales's fingers work their way downward. His own touch firms, strokes becoming caresses, designed to tantalize, hearing that stutter of breath, the way his lover warms within. Their connection, still present, surges to the fore once again as Elidibus grasps for more, winding taut around the other Ascian once more.

"What would that be?" voice like silk pulled over oiled stone, and his lover's name falls from the Emissary's tongue like honey.

  
  


Nabriales's fingers tense upon the sinewy muscle of the Emissary’s hip as their connection deepens once more. Smooth words wash over him, their music almost overriding their meaning in his distracted state. A deep breath recenters him; warm eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, then flick open with renewed heat. His hand moves once more, caressing over skin, seeking to bring Elidibus into a similarly pent state.

“Not to fear, my dearest Emissary - my attention is now solely upon you.” He leans closer, eyes focused on his goal… on the Emissary’s lips. “Right where it belongs,” he adds with a grin, and his mouth seals over Elidibus's, a soft demand.

  
  


Pleased sounds work their way from Elidibus's throat as his lips move, the kiss becoming more heated the longer he extends it - though Nabriales seeks to catch him, to have him rise to the bait as well, he has other plans. A small pulse of power is delivered delicately into the core of the other Ascian, in tandem with his hand's slow upwards movement arriving at his destination - he takes his lover's member in hand, firm once more, and gives a long, slow, stroke.

"Where it belongs, indeed," whispered against Nabriales's lips, Elidibus twists his wrist and begins to pump his lover. With each downward motion, again that power pulses, jolts of dark energy washing over the Majestic, pushing and pulling at his very soul with almost a single-minded goal.

He would rock Nabriales to and fro, until he comes undone and is _utterly_ spent.

  
  


By slow, delicate degrees the balance between them shifts; his hand’s playful exploration stutters, falters, halts - now merely clinging as Elidibus sends power driving through him. He cannot help a soft groan as Elidibus seizes him once more; sensitive as he is from stimulation, he still craves that velvet grip, hips flexing in an instinctive motion as the Emissary’s hand strokes him.

Elidibus's smug response makes him chuckle, breathless, already panting from mounting desire. The dual assault upon both body and soul threatens to drive him wild; he presses hungrily closer to his lover, lips seeking the skin of his chin and throat, plying feather-light kisses everywhere he can even as his body shudders beneath the ministrations.

Focus is an effort, but he makes it for his lover - the energy within his soul feels _so good_ that he cannot help but respond, reaching out, though his touch is more of a caress, a welcome.

Burrowing closer to the Emissary’s ear, he gasps his name once more, the syllables beating out in time to his galloping heart.

  
  


Nabriales is putty in his hands, moving how Elidibus wishes, how the Emissary drives him to - rising and falling with the pull of pleasure, helpless against the way it mounts once more. A satisfied growl rumbles through Elidibus's chest when lips flutter against him, as even now Nabriales _tries._ But Elidibus is relentless, and will not give in so easily.

The caress upon his soul is welcomed and used as a fulcrum, tipping Nabriales even further into the surge of energy Elidibus pours into him. The power redoubles, swelling from within the sundered Ascian even as yet _more_ bubbles forth. A stream, a torrent, near _endless_ in how Elidibus draws from his inner well.

Teeth show, predatory, at the sound of his name, "You desire _power,_ do you not?" A hot breath, as Elidibus tightens his fingers and begins to stroke Nabriales at a feverish pace. "Then you shall _have_ it. Drink deep of me, Nabriales, until you may drink no more."

  
  


Power swells, pouring forth and leaving Nabriales reeling, dizzy from its potency, its _darkness._ The sudden intensity of Elidibus demanding, _commanding_ leaves him gasping, his head falling back and a strangled moan escaping his throat. But even as his body begins to defy his control, he focuses within… for he is not one to squander a gift.

Elidibus torrents furious energy into Nabriales, and he complies eagerly with the order, latching on hungrily and taking everything offered. A groan slips free as the power increases, once, twice, and he clings blindly to the Emissary even as it threatens to overwhelm, and he cannot stop, he _will not_ \- he wants it too much.

Though he drowns in it, he will not relinquish this precious connection, this gift.

Physical sensation builds to a peak, overstimulated flesh struggling to crest, but the flood of darkness forcing wide the jaws of his soul sends him tumbling over, and he twitches and jerks against Elidibus, helpless and needy. Finally his parched soul can take no more, and the power spills over, washing over and around him as he falls into complete surrender against Elidibus.

  
  


With gentle movements Elidibus leans to kiss along the exposed front of his lover's throat, even as he keens, even as he falls apart against him. They ride out Nabriales's orgasm together, the power of Elidibus's soul not abruptly cutting off, no, it is a gentle decrease; though his lover's cup runs over the Emissary reduces it by degrees, until at last it stems to a trickle, and finally halts. He holds the other Ascian tightly through the spasms, through the waves of pleasure, feeling how the other man spills over his hand.

When at last Nabriales slumps against him in bliss, in total vulnerability, Elidibus raises his hand to his lips, cleaning his lover's release from his palm, his fingers. He gathers the taller man to him, holding him close, pressing his nose to mussed hair, an absent brush of a thumb along the shell of an ear, along the dangling ornaments of dark crystal.

Once more, he whispers of his love, connection in full force and holding fast, an embrace both within and without, and exhales Nabriales's name into his hair.

  
  


For a time there is nothing but the racing of his heart, the burn of pleasure slowly fading to heat in his veins, the slowly calming gasps of breath. All the while Elidibus caresses him, holding his body and cradling his soul.

And he is at peace.

Full, so much fuller than he has ever felt before, he feels the new weight, the new massy power within him. It tastes of Elidibus, of devotion and passion and care, and it is good. He stretches his soul, feeling out this newness, growing accustomed to it. When he feels his name whispered into his hair, he finally manages to open an eye.

One hand lifts, slowly, as though it were much heavier than usual, finding the chest before him and sliding up slowly to the shoulder. He hooks the leaden limb over, crooking the elbow so he may idly toy with the hair at Elidibus's nape. He takes a deep breath and sighs it out, smiling; his eye closes once more, and he lies content against his love.

  
  


Pale eyes slip closed and Elidibus curls just that bit closer to Nabriales, a soft, content smile curving at his lips. The intense activity and, from before, the harrowing escape, seems to be catching up to him all at once, and fatigue spreads over him like a leaden blanket. What tension remains melts away, for the Emissary is here, safe, and Nabriales is with him, safe as well - arms squeeze, drawing his lover tighter against him, face pressing deeper into feathery hair. They both bask in the afterglow, soft as it is, gentle moonlight shining through the windows on the far side of the room, and Elidibus revels in this precious, _precious_ moment for as long as he can.

Even at the precipice of slumber, Elidibus does not disentangle them, spiraling down into sleep wrapped within, without, around Nabriales. When consciousness slips from him completely, his smile fades, face smoothing out and lips parting ever so slightly.

He is at peace.

  
  


Nabriales releases a sigh as Elidibus enfolds him, snuggling just that bit closer in response. With his face pressed close to that chest, he can hear the Emissary’s heart beating, smell the faint clean musk of his skin. Holding tight to the connection in their soul, he feels it as Elidibus slips slowly toward sleep. He is not far behind, deeply relaxed and content as he is, but for a time after the other Ascian finally succumbs to sleep he savors the closeness within - still held tightly, even by his lover’s unconscious mind. Drowsy wonder steals into his heart, and bit by bit sleep claims him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weave tightens.


	3. Weft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weft: The crosswise threads on a loom over and under which other threads are passed to make cloth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spun ever tighter.

When he awakens, they are still closely entwined. He stretches, feels Elidibus stir against him and stills. For a moment he holds his breath, but the Emissary settles back into slumber. He shifts again, more slowly, more carefully, raising his head to look at Elidibus.

He cannot help the smile that spreads over his face as he sees the - _his_ \- Emissary in repose. Full lips, softly parted, draw his eye; each breath stirs the hair that lies over his face and shoulders in a tangled skein. He raises a hand and gently shifts it aside, tucking the locks behind his ear and shoulder. Unable to resist temptation, he leans in and presses his lips softly to Elidibus's.

  
  


Through the soft haze of sleep rises awareness, the faintest sensations of hair being moved, of shifting - yet the first real thing Elidibus understands is the soft feeling of a kiss. Nabriales is still wound around, their tapestries woven tightly together even now, and pale eyes ease open as they break apart. Unburdened happiness, contentment, _tranquility_ emanates from the white-haired man, a loving smile gracing his face, still only half conscious.

"Nabriales," spoken slowly, thick with sleep, chased by a wider smile and the Majestic's own name.

  
  


Nabriales smiles at the warm murmur of his name. Leaning closer to Elidibus's ear, he croons the Emissary’s name in response before drawing back down to meet those luminescent eyes. “Good morning.” His smile spreads to a grin. “I trust you slept well?” His hand comes up to trace the edge of Elidibus's jaw as he caresses his love’s soul.

Unwilling to wait on a response, he laves another kiss over the luscious lips before him, savoring the taste of his lover’s mouth before drawing back with a smirk.

  
  


The safety and security that Elidibus feels, the unhurried pull to complete wakefulness, is unmarred by urgency. No pressing from their master to continue his duty, no rush to disentangle and continue on their way. He is grateful, for this, that they may have this, that it may be uninterrupted. Heavy lids slip closed at the feeling of Nabriales's gentle touches on his face and his being, and he is drawn into a kiss before he may respond. 

When he eases his eyes open once more, it is to see that crooked smile gleaming at him. Lucidity returns to him at last, the fog of sleep _finally_ clearing - he indulged so infrequently, unlike some of his compatriots - and his words at last return.

A slow blink, followed by a warm smile, "You would be correct, to trust so. Did you fare as well as I?"

  
  


"Mmm, very much so, yes," comes the murmured response. "I confess I do not often take the time to sleep." His fingers trail down Elidibus's arm lightly. "I am finding it has charms I had not imagined." The teasing smile lingers as his hands creep over Elidibus’s chest; gentle pressure coaxes the Emissary to roll onto his back, and he presses his lips to that chest, high on the sternum.

The soft scent of his lover’s skin carries a sharp note of dried sweat, and as his lips close over one nipple and a thumb caresses its twin the other hand sweeps lower, sending energy washing over Elidibus to whisk away flecks of dirt, sweat, smears of dried fluids from their lovemaking. He swirls the energy around the Emissary’s groin, laving extra attention - extra sensation - over it. It is almost an afterthought as he does the same for himself, leaving his skin tingling lightly from the brush of energy and the feeling of newness.

With deliberate slowness he mouths his way to the other nipple, savoring the taste of the skin beneath his lips - Elidibus tastes of spice and hibiscus, and he moans, nigh drunk on him. His tongue swirls, drawing flesh to a pucker before he moves on, licking his way over ridges of muscle, ever moving lower, but at a teasing, tormentous pace.

Elidibus ran him through a veritable wringer of pleasure on the eve, and he wishes to return the favor.

  
  


Body pliant, Elidibus moves at Nabriales's whim, a questioning hum vibrating through his chest that cuts off into a _moan_ at the first touch of lips. The energy sent over his lower body sparks electric pulses through his blood, and he _stirs._ His lover's hair has long lost the signature style, yet a facsimile is made as slender fingers creep up to bury themselves amongst the brown strands.

Hot, wet heat laves over his nipples, first one then the other, and the _sound_ Nabriales makes - by His Grace that alone was enough to stiffen him fully! - wrenches a needy _whine_ from the Emissary.

Lower still, _teasing,_ and fingers spasm uselessly against that scalp. "Please." One single word, yet entwined Nabriales can feel how he aches.

  
  


Nabriales smiles against Elidibus’s skin, pleased at his lover’s reaction to his touch. Fingers in his hair spur him on, coaxing him lower - right where he wants to go. His teasing has had the desired effect; not only does Elidibus stand now fully to attention, but he can feel the Emissary’s aching _need_ through their connection.

One word - soft, gasped lightly, yet it strikes Nabriales, buries him as though it were an avalanche.

Nabriales has heard the Emissary persuade, deride, lecture, command. He has admired that warm, lilting voice in many circumstances. But never before has he heard him beg, plead. A hungry sound rips itself from his throat in response, his hands spasming on flesh.

The entreat, the _hunger_ in his Emissary’s voice sends a tingle down his spine and to his groin. Were he not still utterly spent from the evening’s pleasures he would spring fully hard from it; even so his body _tries_ \- it does not manage much more than a twitch, but not from lack of _desire,_ nor interest. But it does not trouble him; greedy as he is, there are _other ways_ he might satisfy his hunger.

Raising his head, he turns a grin on Elidibus. “With such a polite request, how could I refuse?” Repositioning himself to lie between his lover’s thighs, he runs his hands along the sensitive skin of their insides - still teasing, just a bit - before _finally_ taking the proud length before him in hand. He gives it a long, slow stroke, and another, eyes locked to Elidibus’s face to drink in each reaction, each expression as it appears. Then he bends his neck, taking the head between his lips, into his mouth, and _sucks._

  
  


The response dies even as it is conceived on the Emissary's lips, his thighs tensing in apprehension and twitching as the teasing _tickles._ But that first confident touch, those _hungry_ eyes, has his head falling back to press against pillows with a shaking groan. Pleasure shoots up his spine and flares in his soul, where he clings ever tighter to his lover. 

Eyes squeeze shut and his body _lifts_ up from the bed, bowing at the fervent attention and _oh_ the **_slick heat._ ** That sinful mouth closing over him is both expected and a white-hot shock, heat kickstarting instantly as his abdominal muscles flex. Hair is pulled as his hands fist, but it is _not enough._ It is a taste, a _tease,_ so different than plunging deep within his lover, and his arms and hips shake with restraint; forcibly halting the want to buck up into that searing mouth.

He wants _more._

_"Please."_ Again, he _begs,_ the words breaking over such intensity.

  
  


Nabriales smiles his satisfaction as Elidibus arches beneath him, and though he can no longer see his lover’s face, he yet _feels_ his pleasure through their bond, rising flames in his soul as Elidibus clings ever closer to him within. The tug on his scalp underscores that plain need, and he realizes it may be that none has paid lip service to the Emissary in some time.

This tragic state of affairs must be rectified.

Another plea heats his blood, wringing a soft moan from him as Elidibus’s hips flex, almost a thrust, though he reins the motion in, control clearly strained. But Nabriales _seeks_ to wreck that control, to reduce the unflappable Emissary to broken incoherency. He will have to try harder.

And it is no hardship, that. The taste of Elidibus - the feel of his most intimate flesh in his mouth - makes Nabriales groan. He wants more. So he dips his head, taking more of him in, letting his lips constrict, his tongue stroke along the bottom of the shaft. And again, a soft sound escaping him with the motion, further this time. He works his way downward, sucking hard at the deepest point of each motion, until he takes Elidibus’s entirety in and holds there for a moment, so full, so _incredibly_ full he must fight his body’s reflexes, but _oh_ it is worthwhile.

Deliberately he works the muscles of his throat, making them constrict around the head of Elidibus’s cock.

  
  


Such attentions, such _worship_ of his physical form draw soft gasps from the Emissary's lips with each new motion. One hand drops to the blankets and clenches, knuckles going white with the force. His lover's lavishing tongue, those firmed lips, the _suction_ are almost more than he can stand. Pressure, a pulling, builds deep within, a blinding finish upon the horizon that Nabriales seems hellbent on driving him towards.

Then the head of his cock fair brushes the back of Nabriales's throat and the man _swallows._ A high keen that resembles the other Ascian's name tears itself free from Elidibus, every muscle in his body going taut as he hovers on the edge of a precipice. The pleasure swamps through him, thick, cloying, _overwhelming_ and coupled by how his lover truly _wants_ him to lose himself.

And he does.

Nonsense sounds come babbling from that silver tongue as his hand presses _down,_ shoving himself yet deeper into the other man's throat. He wants, he _needs,_ and any vestiges of control fall away as his hips flex, uncontrolled half-thrusts pulling back, driving up, reduced to base pleasure as he has become. His soul scrambles wildly, latching on ever tighter - the union had _never_ been so sweet - and bringing to bear exactly how Nabriales is making him feel.

That shining finish looms ever closer and his fingertips seem to _just_ brush it, yet he falls short, ever so slightly. 

All that exists of Elidibus is broken moans and the way Nabriales prays at the altar of his lust.

  
  


A cry reaches Nabriales's ears - his name, almost unrecognizable in the strained and twisted voice, but within their joined souls it is clear that Elidibus yet _pleads_ for more, though words be beyond him in this moment. Elidibus's pleasure flows through their bond and into his veins as well, flash-boiling Nabriales's blood as his lover's voice, his words, ascend to a place beyond and below language, even the Echo unable to wrest meaning from the overwrought sounds. Pressure on the back of his head fills him even fuller as Elidibus's self-control fractures, hips rolling in shallow thrusts.

He chokes momentarily, fingers clenching on those sinewed hips - the reflex only tightening the pressure around Elidibus's head - before mastering the instinctive panic. This is exactly what he wanted; the Emissary, lost to pleasure, lost to his adoration - _his,_ and no other - trembles at a precipice, and within he feels his soul clasped, seized in desperation. _Finally_ the wildness he craves so is unleashed.

He can _feel_ it, through their entwined state and the Emissary's intense need to cling closer - the quivering desperation, the agony of pleasure raging through Elidibus, body and soul. It rips a groan from his chest, deep, and again his overtaxed cock _twitches._ He cannot stop himself; his own hips begin to stutter against the bedsheets in time with Elidibus's thrusts into his mouth, taken by the pleasure once more so generously shared with him. Elidibus's moans, his soul-deep _need,_ raise Nabriales up... exalt him.

And he is not one to deny such fervent ardor.

Craving the Emissary's release as powerfully as he'd craved his own the evening before, he reaches to blend their souls - the deep merging he had but lately learned from his lover. Coaxing insistently without fully demanding, he leads the dance, opening the way for Elidibus to follow... to fall now into _him._ At the same moment, he takes his lover's length just _that bit deeper_ on his next thrust, bowing in further supplication and groaning both his own pleasure and an intentional vibration.

He would give Elidibus the same glut of ecstasy, of passion, that the Emissary had treated him to.

  
  


The weaving is taken from wavering grasp, _Nabriales_ doing the spinning now to thread their souls into a single skein. Elidibus goes willingly - more than willing, for his lover to offer _this_ is beyond his ken - that great darkness funneled into the other man, blending flawlessly yet this time the Emissary _defers._ They become as one, the exquisite pleasure of such intimacy hitting simultaneously with fervent attentions and Elidibus _falls._

And falls and falls and falls and _falls and falls and_ **_breaks._ **

Brilliance consumes all that he is with a choked-off gasp. With a final aborted thrust - Nabriales's nose already brushes his pelvis - his body goes taut like a drawn bow, abdomen clenching, and he empties himself straight down his lover's throat. Air is punched from his host's lungs from the force of it, guttural sounds breaking the exultant air. The orgasm is drawn out, never seeming to end, and with hand fisted in tawny hair he shoves down ever harder; he bucks up and rides his lover's face, all thought _lost._

The starburst rushes through his body, through his soul, dragging Nabriales with Elidibus and tumbling them both into oblivion's abyss.

At the end his steel grip loosens upon the bedding, his other hand slipping from hair to fall back to the bed along with the rest of his now-limp body. Every muscle relaxes at once, mouth parted and working yet _soundless,_ pale eyes rolling sightlessly. Shuddering breaths at last fill thankful lungs, and the Emissary lays completely spent.

  
  


Nabriales trembles as _he_ becomes _they_ \- souls blended so deeply they feel everything, darkness washing upon dark shores until they are as one.

Their mouth, full of their lover’s sweet need.

Their oh-so-sensitive member, engulfed in wet _heat,_ swallowed so deep as to be nearly _consumed._

Their devotion, their love, their _craving,_ their **_trust._ **

They thrust, they devour, they clutch blindly, they moan as one...

Everything all at once, overwhelming and sharp, and together they _break._

They buck, they bow, they _swallow_ in starving desperation as they spill forth. As they peak together, at once, as one. Bliss - ecstasy - _absolution_ drags them into the void. For a time, reality is naught beyond _them_ \- one another and pleasure.

Slowly they stream apart, Nabriales’s state such that he cannot maintain the merging, and they become themselves once more, separate but bound. Dizziness pulls him back to reality, and he realizes his mouth is yet full of Elidibus’s slowly softening member; harsh whistling pants gentle as he pulls back, releasing his love and for a moment merely resting upon his thigh to recover. Once his head no longer spins, though, he moves up to curl about the shorter man, tucking his chin over the shoulder so his lips hover near his ear; one hand squirms beneath to clutch him close while the other paints languorous strokes over the skin of Elidibus’s chest and abdomen.

Softly, through a voice hoarse from exertions, from desire, he rasps his lover’s name.

  
  


Ilm by ilm Elidibus comes back to himself as they separate once more. Warmth trails over the front of his torso and his body responds to the touch, leaning in to his lover and tangling their legs together. In the wake of such intimacy, such powerful waves of pleasure, he presses closely to Nabriales. Arms worm their way around the taller man just as he holds fast to his soul. The rough sound of his own name sends a shiver throughout his entire body.

He cannot do aught else but whisper his lover's name in turn.

Time passes, breathing evening out and calming, his pulse returning to a resting pace. Elidibus tips his head to press a kiss against the other Ascian's forehead and nestles just that much more closely.

  
  


Nabriales cannot help but smile as Elidibus reacts visibly, tangibly, to the sound of his name. But it is his turn to sigh when, with a soft voice, his own name leaves his lover’s lips, a tender susurration. For a moment his motions still, just savoring the concept, the mere idea of his name on the lips of another, of _wanting_ to hear it… again, and again, and again.

He cannot imagine he will ever tire of hearing the precious syllables in that low, warm, melodic voice.

Elidibus clings to him, breathing still fast but slowing, heart racing, so close to his own; for his part Nabriales also takes this time to recover. Their joining sending him once more over the edge has left him overdrawn, weary in the best possible way, but when Elidibus presses tender lips to his forehead it warms him through and through nonetheless. His caresses shift to work through the Emissary’s hair, slipping through the silken strands, gently smoothing them, straightening them, sliding slowly lower.

“I think I could stand to sleep more often if this is what waking up is like.” His fingertips trail along Elidibus’s jawline, gently raising his chin so their eyes may meet. “Are you all right? I confess I did not consider your current condition when I began this.” Concern swells behind those warm eyes, and he turns his attention to his lover’s soul.

  
  


Bound together as they are, pressed flush, Elidibus smiles as Nabriales voices his concern. Indeed he acknowledges the wounds as present, yet with his lover entwined so close all he can feel is the warmth they share.

"No harm has been done; do not concern yourself thusly," the words are fond.

  
  


A soft sigh of relief ghosts from Nabriales's lips at the reassurance. "Full glad am I to hear it. Had I carelessly done you hurt..." He trails away, a line of tension creasing his brow. Another deep breath, another sigh, and it fades slowly away. His attentions turn once more to the gentle strokes he yet draws over his lover; though his ardor is - for the nonce, at least - cooled, he still desires to venerate his Emissary's form, to _know_ it.

He grapples within, fighting his natural reticence, reminding himself that frank words but put voice to the frank feelings he has already shared within his soul. Slowly a smile grows, warms, brightens his entire aspect as his eyes turn once more to Elidibus's.

"It would grieve me to cause you pain, however accidentally... for I love you dearly."

  
  


Gently a hand lifts to caress his lover's cheek, fingers smoothing over sideburns. A smile of the Emissary's own blooms to match. "The sentiment is entirely returned, dear Nabriales."

The truth in his words rings within throughout that aetheric embrace.

"Though I must admit, hearing that from your own lips is... enlightening." Elidibus had not known how much he craved the words until they were spoken.

  
  


Smiling more broadly yet - by His Grace, when had he last smiled this much, this earnestly? - Nabriales leans close, hand slipping around the back of Elidibus’s head, holding him near for a slow, lingering kiss. When he draws back he lets his fingertips roam lower, finding a collarbone and stroking it, back and forth, before moving on.

“Indeed,” he murmurs, grinning as he continues his exploration, “I am finding that words have a charm all their own that I would not have guessed. Especially when used upon one who has such an… appreciation for them.”

His hand stills, and Nabriales shifts, propping his head on an elbow. The hand lifts, rising to his ear, toying for a moment with the earring there.

After a few seconds of deliberation he unclasps the pendant. His fingers curl about it, and he slowly extends the hand to Elidibus.

"I had considered," he says, a bit less confidently, "how best to demonstrate the depths of my gratitude and appreciation to you." The hand opens, the dark crystal resting on the palm, an offering. "A token of my affections - if you desire it." His eyes rise to find the Emissary's own.

  
  


Fond words, yet simple, bring warmth as pale eyes track Nabriales's movements. Despite how woven together they remain - and how _pleasing_ it is, to have woken with that still in place, to retain it still - Elidibus is unable to divine his lover's intentions, merely watching as he is presented with _wonder._ It is sheer awe that strikes through him at the gesture, piercing and stealing his breath; ever had such jewelry been a symbol, been important to the other Ascian, so to be presented as such is-

_Oh._

The lapse in self-assuredness is caught, understood, and color blooms over the Emissary's face. Despite the words this is no mere token, no simple trinket given from one lover to another, and that Nabriales would offer such a thing drives something deep into his heart. Their tapestry, the weave holding them together, colors with a myriad of emotions - and when burnt orange rises to greet pale, they are _tumultuous._

So floored is Elidibus that when he begins to respond, he pauses. A false start.

A second.

And, finally, "I do." Breathed, hoarse, cheekbones awash with red but face brightening - the morning sun streaming in seems to pale in comparison. "Nothing would please me more, should you be certain."

  
  


For the barest margin of a second fear transfixes Nabriales's heart as Elidibus struggles in a manner most uncharacteristic, seemingly bereft of words. But the fear cannot take root before the truth of his difficulty burns through their bond - a wash of awe and elation. Reassurance centers him, and now he drinks in the Emissary’s loss of composure, the hoarse sincerity of his voice, the growing flush and smile, with unvarnished delight.

His eyes trace the Emissary’s face; ordinarily his beauty is as the moon: subdued, pale, remote. But bright emotion warms his aspect to that of the sun in this moment, and he is _radiant._ For a breath, another, Nabriales merely basks in the glory shining upon him. His outstretched hand remains steady, the faceted crystal of the earring winking in the light of morning.

He smiles broadly, but the expression remains gentle, warm. “I have never in my life been more certain of anything.”

  
  


It is with gravity that Elidibus shifts, with _weight_ that he reaches for this treasure that has been offered to him; indeed, his movements are slow, measured, as if in disbelief. His fingers brush those of Nabriales and he lingers, for a few moments, barest strokes upon sensitive palm, upon inner wrist, before delicately plucking the crystal from the proffered hand. His eyes do not leave the warm umber gaze of his lover, even as he withdraws to clasp the earring upon his own lobe. 

A huff of breath as the reality settles in, as the gentle weight of the earring tugs downwards, and that brilliance dims in slight seriousness. It is a melting, those eyes filling with profound _love._

"All will know what has transpired here, should we continue thusly," Elidibus cups Nabriales's face, communicating with both voice and soul. "I care naught, should others discover, but I worry that...'' His lover had always concerned himself with how he was perceived, dwelled upon what others thought of him, and such a monumental change would have ripples, would cause opinions. Particularly because of the _nature_ of the man with whom Nabriales had bound himself, in one way or another - to the _Emissary_ of all people. 

And so Elidibus continues, with a pang of pain, "That perhaps, you will find it in yourself to regret."

  
  


Satisfaction radiates plainly from Nabriales as he looks upon the earring, twin to his own, where it hangs from Elidibus's ear. His attention is pulled away, though, by the sober tone of his lover's voice. The tender touch upon his face highlights both the seriousness of the matter and Elidibus's plain affection, and his gaze turns inward, the expression becoming thoughtful. For long seconds, after those poignant words, he is silent.

"Regret," he finally murmurs. "I have had my share of those, it is true. More often, though, from what I did not do than what I did." He focuses once more upon the Emissary's face. "Certainly there may be some among our number to fault me - or perhaps even you - for our association." He smiles. "And certainty there was a time such a thing might have concerned me, might have made me wish to avoid or hide such a connection. A day prior? Perhaps.” His smile turns crooked. “How odd it seems… but suddenly the opinions of others matter rather less than your own of me. After all, it was you who showed me that I truly have value. You whose regard, whose consideration, gave me the equilibrium I needed to carry on with our work." He grows suddenly serious. "You, whose connection saved me from certain destruction."

He gives the Emissary scant chance to protest the matter, one hand rising to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the lips for a moment. "No other would have put their own self in harm's way to save me. Deny it not, for you know it to be truth." He draws a deep breath, eyes sliding closed momentarily, reopening upon his sigh.

"What we have found - what we have shared here - can only be a sliver of His grace… His love. What matter the thoughts of others beside that truth? If they look at us and somehow fail to see the joy, the ease that we bring to each other, then it is upon their own heads." He leans close, eyes losing focus as he presses his forehead to Elidibus's. He breathes his lover's name as though it were a prayer, and smiles once more.

"I could never count you among my regrets."

  
  


An exchange has taken place, a trading of places so peculiar that even recently it would have been such an outlandish idea to _any,_ and yet here is Nabriales wielding his words while _Elidibus_ has lost them. The Emissary is stunned at the change, at heartfelt confessions and musings, at tender touches, and warmth _surges_ within his heart. Pressure at his forehead and he returns it, the elation within driving him to further action. Strong hands grasp the taller man and he rolls them both, pulling Nabriales to lay square atop his body, the connection between their crowns yet unbroken.

An answering reverence, his lover's name, and Elidibus presses to the knotted core of their connection. The power previously given in the heat of intimacy once more resumes, yet this time it is but a tranquil flow, no stimulating force but an easing, a _gift._ When it ebbs, begins to cease, Elidibus inhales deeply and smiles, brilliant as the stars.

"We shall walk in His grace together. When one may not suffice, we shall have the other at our backs. To balance, to temper, and our combined strength shall see His will be done. None shall challenge once we show what, together, we may yet be capable of."

The morning light sparkles off of twinned earrings, marking the lovers as belonging to one another.

  
  


Eyes go wide as Nabriales finds himself suddenly atop the smaller man. But not only do they remain in tender contact, but once again Elidibus gifts him power - a gentle stream rather than the previous torrent, but no less precious, no less delightful. Nabriales drinks this, too, in, though in this sweet moment he savors it, his usual greed still sated from before. The power bears an essence, a signature almost, of his Emissary, a flavor unique to him, and to Nabriales it is utterly wonderful. Though the flow slows, stops, yet he feels it within himself, and is content.

The uplifting words of love and devotion are as much a gift as the power had been; they, too, he takes within him, cherishing. He expresses his accord with a chaste press of lips, a lingering soft kiss - and a simultaneous outpouring of his own power. He would have Elidibus feel this closeness as well, this lingering intimacy. Both kiss and flow draw out, and he brings them both back simultaneously, gradually, pulling away enough to see his lover’s face once more.

With two fingertips he brushes the earring where it dangles from the Emissary’s lobe, nodding to himself. A smile grows on Nabriales's lips as he looks over his lover, finding his condition… satisfactory. He rises to sit back, reluctance making the motion slow, and sighs.

“Much as I would love to remain here indefinitely, the others need to know about this white auracite.” A sly smile curves across his lips. “Duty calls… though it will not always do so.”

  
  


Surprise darts through the Emissary as his gesture is returned - though it does not last long. The feel of Nabriales, the lingering touch, taste, is a welcome intimacy, _sentimental_ in its earnest nature. Though it, too, must come to an end, bright eyes easing open at the touch to his ear. Elidibus does not lament, when Nabriales rises, propping himself on his elbows in kind to sit up.

He, too, feels their time grow short, and nods with a sigh. "It is as you say; to uphold our mission we must needs inform the others." The corners of his lips quirk up into a smile. "There will be time yet for us, indeed."

Despite the knowledge that they _would_ have time, later, Elidibus hesitates to disentangle them. The feel of a soul entwined so close to his was a feeling one quickly grows accustomed to, and he was loath to give it up. Yet his duty was clear, and he would not resist - he had no _desire_ to resist.

After all, they _would_ have time. Nabriales **_lived._ **

Carefully he sorts their threads and undoes the weave holding them together. It takes barely any time at all, a few moments, before the tapestry unravels completely, leaving two souls separate once more. One last bit of pressure, an aetheric embrace, and in this too Elidibus draws back - to a curious sensation. Though fully apart, the lingering power they had gifted one another proved a balm, a reminder that they had shared this, that they would again, and it was with a light heart that the Emissary opens his mouth to speak.

Only to clutch at his chest in futility as _pain_ sears over his soul, a strained breath slipping through grit teeth.

  
  


Regret sends pangs through Nabriales as Elidibus begins the process of extricating their souls. He does his best not to show it, for he knows it to be necessary. For his own part, at least, he realizes he would struggle to keep his focus where it must remain with that constant - wonderful - feeling of closeness. So he keeps his smile in place as they draw apart, turning his attention from the unwinding strands and toward the lingering power Elidibus had given him.

It is for this reason that he does not notice the Emissary’s discomfiture until it twists into _pain._

His eyes widen in dawning horror - he knew Elidibus had been injured, but he had not realized that their connection - that _he_ \- had made such a difference to help ease the pain, perhaps even the damage. He lurches forward, clasping Elidibus's shoulders.

“Are you all right?” Frantically he presses his soul close once more - he does not force the connection, no, but he makes to reconnect from his side with distressed insistence. If Elidibus needs him, if he can ease the pain his miscalculation had brought about, then he would bear whatever distraction it caused him. If his Emissary needs his support, he will _have_ it, even if the entire Convocation must see the bond.

  
  


Hands grasp him but Elidibus's focus is turned inwards, at the injury he had suffered at the hands of Her Light and the Champion themselves. The damage was far more extensive than he had originally thought - he would heal, in time, but to take such a blow in the manner he had, without protections, would leave a lingering mark should no actions be taken.

"I shall endure," through clenched teeth the words practically hiss, and he eagerly reaches for what Nabriales offers. 

Newly exposed, the pain does not quite recede even with a renewed link, though it lessens somewhat to a level far more bearable. The sheer _relief_ is striking, a bath of ice water snuffing out flames, and a deep breath serves to steady the Emissary enough to think more clearly. Straightening, able to breathe freely once more, he finds that he cares not who sees them tied together like this.

"Lahabrea will know how to treat this in a far more effective manner," still pained, but Elidibus's speech is far closer to his usual even tone. Pale eyes meet burnt orange, and he gives a wry smile. "He should be with the others, where we may also relay the news about this new weapon."

  
  


Nabriales sighs in relief as Elidibus again binds them together. But that relief is short-lived; exposed as the wounds were, they yet ache, and now he can _feel_ their shape, discern the raw and scorched edges riven across that gleaming soul. The pain, too, bleeds through - faint but deep, and he suspects Elidibus of trying to shield him from the worst of it. But there is naught he can do beyond what he is already doing - support him, wrap his soul around the worst of it, and see him to Lahabrea and the others as soon as possible.

Well… naught save that _and_ internally berate himself once more for putting the Emissary in such a position.

With Elidibus eased, he releases his shoulders to sit back once more. He considers what else must be done before they go to seek healing - ah yes, clothing. A flex of his will, a gesture to focus his mind, and his robes and mask mist back into existence, already in place.

“Then let us brook no delay,” he says, casting his eyes once more, fondly, over his lover’s form before it can be shrouded in the robes of his office.

  
  


A brisk nod and Elidibus gathers his concentration, sparing a last lingering look over Nabriales before the mantle of the Emissary fades into place. Yet, it is just as damaged as before - tattered, scorched, the Light having seared along his body as well as his soul, and in his injured state his attire reflects just how damaged he had been. There is a deep, steadying breath, to balance himself as he can, before he pulls his hair back into a tail, tucking it into his cowl as he pulls it into place.

The carmine mask, beaked, nods once. "Let us deliver the news." Without any more delays shadows begin to swirl around them both, whisking them away.

An expanse of violet and black greets them, their meeting place full of floating platforms and crystals. The portal fades and Elidibus takes a single step through, eyes landing on Lahabrea before him and mouth open to apologize for their rude interruption. But _pain_ sears through him instead, the previous exertion and raw, open wounds proving to be too much for his host body to stand the movements, and he stumbles.

Resigned to meet the ground in an undignified heap, Elidibus is not even aware of the soft, pitiful sound he makes - an animal noise, pained, in front of all present.

  
  


Lahabrea glances around at the gathered Ascians, noting with displeasure one of their number missing. A glance shows Nabriales's platform empty; a disappointment, to be sure, but not a surprise. The headstrong Ascian knows he is expected; Lahabrea will not wait for him. He begins relaying the next stage of his plan to the assembled members of the Convocation, but breaks off mid-sentence as a portal opens beside him, shadows gathering to a point and spiraling outward. To no surprise, he senses Nabriales, no doubt with some convenient…

His annoyance dies stillborn at the sight of the white-robed Ascian by Nabriales's side. The Emissary stumbles, and Lahabrea lunges to catch him, alarm jolting through him. One hand supports Elidibus's waist; the other comes to rest on the other side of his torso - over Nabriales's hand, where he too helps to hold the Emissary up. Face going warm, he jerks the hand back before the Majestic can snipe at him… but to his surprise the sundered Ascian doesn’t even seem to notice the contact, his attention focused entirely on Elidibus.

“Are you all right?”

They speak nearly at once, and now Nabriales shoots him a momentary glance. But his lips are parted in soft worry rather than pressed to an annoyed line, as they so usually are in his presence. Wondering, Lahabrea turns his attention fully on the Emissary as well. A soft muttering arises as the rest of the Convocation begins to react to the unusual scene, but he tunes it out.

Breath freezes in his lungs at the state of Elidibus's soul. A great gash winds over and around his very self, with smaller slices and burns branching from it. Reaching his own soul out to brush close, he hisses at the pain, the slow leak of darkness he can _feel_ escaping from the cruel wounds. To his shock, Nabriales is wrapped around and within Elidibus, their souls closely bound together; his power makes a salve of sorts, a binding over the wound that keeps it held largely shut. But his sundered soul can only do so much.

The oddity - such a bond and _more,_ for Nabriales fair bursts with Elidibus's aether - is set aside, to be analyzed later. For now he looks more closely at the damage.

Faint edges of light leak gleaming from the rents, remnants of whatever cruel power carved through him… and in a flash he recognizes it - the bringer of light’s signature is plain once he knows to look for it. His hands clench and for a moment he sees red, fury igniting his blood. He tamps it down; Elidibus needs healing - healing only he can provide unless he wishes to wake Emet-Selch. Retribution upon the one who would attack an Emissary of peace can come later… as can self-censure at his own failure to end them when he had the chance.

In their arms Elidibus straightens, regaining his footing, his composure, but Lahabrea clings for a moment longer to him, fighting back the frantic urge to clutch him close, to run hands over his form and check for further injury. The wounds are horrific; he shudders to think what might have happened - what nearly happened - and he realizes they might have lost the Emissary. His heart recoils from the thought - such a thing must never come to pass.

“Damn me for a fool.” Nabriales's voice is bitter with recrimination. “I should have teleported us, I…”

Lahabrea sets a gentle hand on his arm, quieting him. Again he expects rejection, but Nabriales instead releases a deep, shuddering sigh, head bowing, seeming to find reassurance in the touch. Lahabrea turns his face to Elidibus; again fury rises at the insult done to the Emissary. He takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly; beneath the mask his nostrils flare as he wrests self-control to him by force. His lips, as well, pinch thin with the effort, and when his voice emerges, it is flat, emotion pressed out of it by necessity.

“What happened.”

  
  


Embarrassment for the state of his being, presented for _all_ to see, has no place here, for the news to be shared is far more vital to the Convocation and their mission as a whole. Mouth working for a moment, Elidibus allows himself to be steadied by both Nabriales and Lahabrea, the weakness of this body _and_ his soul rendering their aid necessary. Aloof as he is, he cares not that he bares his weakness for all to see - _let_ them see, let them understand how dire the situation might become.

"A new weapon has been developed." When he finally speaks, his usual even tone is just barely managed. It lacks the lilt, the music he typically holds, but is all the more grave for it. "White auracite, they call it. With it, they may entrap our very souls within, rendering our escape impossible, and shatter us into nothing. Nabriales was almost erased in such a manner, had I not intervened."

A breath, a shudder, "Hydaelyn's Champion struck me instead, using the aether of a comrade alongside the staff Tupsimati. Any further contact with the Warrior of Light must needs be avoided if at all possible, should caution not be taken."

  
  


Lahabrea’s heart, already leaden with worry, drops to his gut like a stone into dark water at Elidibus's words. A weapon capable of entrapping their souls? This boded poorly indeed. He would need every detail, every scrap of knowledge they had to help him understand it, see if it might be counteracted or avoided… but that would wait. First, healing.

He reaches his soul out, pressing now against Elidibus - and Nabriales, where they are joined. He realizes in surprise that Nabriales, too, bears wounds of light, but they are largely mended; it seems Elidibus has already done what he could for them. He catches the taller Ascian’s gaze and gives him a solemn nod; in response the tendrils he has woven over Elidibus begin to unwind and retreat.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, inspecting the revealed injuries. His heart sinks somehow further at what is shown. He had realized the wounds were bad - wide rivers of light carving out channels from the Emissary.

He had not realized they were so _deep._

His fury crests once more as the full of the wounds is shown. Around them, the low murmurs rise sharply, and his own outrage is echoed in the voices of the sundered Ascians. For once, though, the Speaker stands silent, letting others give voice instead… for he knows if he speaks his mind, here, now, a crusade will begin - a bloody campaign, if this new weapon should be plentiful. His hands shake; despite his best efforts his fury _will not_ be contained, not completely. He is forced in the end to ball them into fists, press them to his thighs. A deep breath, another, then he speaks - a low murmur.

“This is bad, Elidibus.” Indeed, the Emissary’s pain, no longer soothed by Nabriales's soul, radiates outward sharply. Lahabrea moves to twine his own soul over the injuries, pausing at the Emissary’s borders. “With your permission?”

  
  


It had been many ages since the Emissary had felt the touch of Lahabrea against his inner self, and though he knew it would be required to heal his wounds, he cannot help but be surprised at the feeling. A gentle pang, ancient memories of bygone days, and it is Elidibus himself who crosses over first, curling himself around the Speaker to draw him in. Despite his state he cannot contain the happiness he feels over the contact, the connection, soothing strokes rising forth to caress simmering anger.

He had missed Lahabrea _terribly_.

"I am... aware of the severity. All you must do is welcome." Pale eyes glance over to honeyed orange before meeting the icy gold of the other Paragon's gaze, and he nods.

  
  


To Lahabrea’s surprise, it is _Elidibus_ who makes the move, who weaves them together with a deftness he doubts he could have matched. Despite his pain, the Emissary’s joy rises at the connection - one that Lahabrea had long forgotten, though memory stirs, spurred by their profound link. The feeling of being _missed_ \- how can it be true? - calls to his own loneliness, making him reach perhaps a touch deeper than is strictly necessary for healing. Even as he sets to work Elidibus gentles his anger, tempering it to prudence. It is an intimacy he has not experienced in…

Regret rises as he realizes it has been _millennia._

Not that alone, but as he begins to stitch the worst of the damage closed he realizes how much he has left unsaid to the other Unsundered. How many regrets would have borne him down if he _had_ been destroyed, if he had abruptly lost all chances to reconnect, all tomorrows. A deep breath for self-control - not to wrangle fury, this time, but _pain_ \- and he turns every scrap of attention to his work.

  
  


Nabriales watches on, hands flexing in helpless worry, as Lahabrea takes his place. He has done his part, he reminds himself, everything he can, and now it remains to Lahabrea to perform the healing he cannot. But still he cannot keep himself from worrying, fretting over Elidibus's condition. Beside him, the Emissary sways on his feet, and he steps close, putting an arm around him, supporting him close against his side. 

Lahabrea works with the skill of long practice, never once hesitating in how he weaves power into sutures within that mighty soul, choking out the last embers of light, crafting sable dressings over torn essence. Nabriales watches; healing has not interested him terribly before, but now he is an eager student, desperate to learn in case he should find his Emissary wounded once more - may Lord Zodiark forbid it.

Unsundered Lahabrea may be, but the toll of changing bodies as rapidly as he does for their great work is plain upon him. He delves into his reserves, deeper and deeper, and Nabriales cannot help but fear the healing will have to be left incomplete lest Lahabrea put his own self also at risk of harm. Determination snaps his spine straight, and he reaches out, laying a hand on Lahabrea’s arm.

“Lahabrea - let me assist. Surely there is _something_ I can do to help you. Let me bolster your power.”

A surprised cant of the cowled head transforms to a nod, and he reaches to tangle lightly with Lahabrea, letting him draw from his reserves to continue his work. His head turns at the soft sound of reality collapsing upon itself; one by one the rest of the sundered appear on the platform and gather in a loose semicircle about them.

Their intentions become clear within a moment as one by one they also connect with Lahabrea, reinforcing his power with their own. Nabriales swallows, hard; for a moment he struggles to find the words he needs. The sudden closeness - all the Ascians now bound together, linked through Lahabrea - lets him _show_ the others the depths of his gratitude.

“Thank you.” When the words emerge, they are unsteady - rough. “Thank you all.”

Pashtarot smiles, first at him and then at Elidibus. “We may have our differences. But an attack upon one of us is an attack upon all of us.” His smile drops away, expression turning hard. “And an attack upon our Emissary is a declaration of war.”

In this moment, the wills of the Convocation are one, united. Protective of their wounded… and ruthless toward their attacker.

  
  


Healing had ever been a rare occurrence for Elidibus to experience, his specialization keeping him from harm more than most, so when Lahabrea delves deep, begins the task at hand, the Emissary's perception of the physical space around them fades into nothing. Awareness retreats, circling around the other soul - beautiful, familiar, battered but _whole_ \- that works upon him. Pain rises but he smothers it, reaching for Lahabrea, the whisper of his own _name_ echoing for the Speaker alone to hear.

Distantly, he feels his body held up, tucked safely against a taller man - _Nabriales,_ thought with a warm rush.

Yet even with dulled perception Elidibus feels when the Majestic himself links with the other Unsundered, trickling across their connection. He cannot feel more than the presence, secondary as it is, but surprise colors his threads when the rest of the Convocation, too, joins in.

Now is not the time to process how he feels, for he dare not risk distracting Lahabrea. Instead he entwines himself further with the Speaker, drawing him yet deeper still. It is a conscious action, reinforcing how he had _missed_ the other man, a thousand other things communicated at once, in a way only they two complete souls could.

  
  


Lahabrea’s focus is supreme; and it is well, for the last thing he expects is that tender whisper, the Emissary’s name ringing into his soul. His physical form falters, breath stilling in his lungs, hands slackening in their movements, as he is _reminded._ Not that he could ever forget the truth of his ancient comrade’s self, but…

He has not thought himself worthy of the syllables in a long time.

He forces a shuddering breath in, fingertips trembling now though the actions of his soul remain steady by sheer force of will. The name echoes in his soul, warming him - drawing him in even as Elidibus weaves them closer still. He feels himself a moth to a flame, unable to look away, unable to resist - and he whispers into Elidibus's soul, in that secret, private place, his own name - gift, reminder, permission. _Entreat._

He has scarce begun to recover from the foundation-rocking exchange, the sudden and _wonderful_ closeness that he had not realized he missed so when Nabriales makes his offering. The sundered Ascian’s worry for Elidibus is an open wound, seeping alarm and guilt, and his deep affection and care for the Emissary is just as plain. Lahabrea accepts the offered help gratefully… and once more with surprise as each Sundered comes forth to make their own gifts, united in purpose as he takes - carefully - from each and all, stronger woven together like this, to repair what he may of the damage done to Elidibus.

He is the nexus of their bond, for each Ascian connects to him at some level, and so he wields the sharp edge of the scalpel that is their combined will. It is both burden and buoying, to feel the direct and unwavering support of the remaining Convocation lifting him up. It is… freeing.

He realizes he has held the others at a remove for too long.

And so it is that, when Elidibus binds him in snares of _caring_ \- of everything he has felt and wished for and missed these millennia - that he does not, cannot resist. He sees now into himself, through the eyes of the Emissary, and he sees the sickness that has taken root in his heart, the thorns that encircle and bloody him and distance him from those he should allow to succor him. He sees it… and he repudiates it. He will no longer be bound. And with the will of the Convocation so united, their power interwoven, he has the strength, the control to not only complete what healing may be done for Elidibus… but also cut away the tangled growths within himself.

His work complete, he opens his newly liberated heart in gratitude to each and every sundered Ascian - knowing well that they have so much less, their gifts are all the more precious. With a request to meet again upon the morrow he gently disengages the binds, leaving himself now wrapped in Elidibus and lightly connected to Nabriales. One by one the others leave, making their way to their respective assignments, leaving the trio alone upon the dark crystal.

  
  


Though he is not the one exerting himself, surgical precision knitting intricate parts of his very essence back together, Elidibus grows more and more weary. He is aware of all that Lahabrea does, to both the Emissary as well as _himself,_ yet he relaxes back and _trusts._ Such intensive work is painful even as it soothes, pinpricks of sharpness where the gaping wounds soon lessen to dull aches. It would take time yet to recover, but under the expert eye and work of the Speaker that recovery period would now be far more swift.

Elation rises as Lahabrea discovers his own ills, pruning them away, and a soft sigh slips from Elidibus's lips. In the haze of his exhaustion he only barely feels it when the others take their leave, his focus on the two still supporting him.

His voice is a rasp, barely audible. "Thank you." And then, even softer, as if unawares, the barest whisper slipping free, first of Nabriales's name, then Lahabrea's.

  
  


As the other sundered Ascians begin disappearing, Nabriales finds himself supporting more and more of Elidibus's weight. It is a burden he bears gladly, relieved to see his lover’s soul in much better shape after Lahabrea’s ministrations. Finally the frantic fear that has fluttered in his breast since that pained gasp when they first separated begins to calm, to settle and allow his heart to beat normally. He raises his gaze to Lahabrea, intending to thank him, but Elidibus beats him to it.

Color touches his cheeks when his name slips from the Emissary’s lips in Lahabrea’s presence. Indeed, the unsundered Ascian’s head comes around, and even as Nabriales realizes he probably already knew it, another whisper - another name, by its cadence - fills the space between them.

Lahabrea’s reaction makes it clear _exactly_ whose it is.

Ears burning, he takes a deep breath, resolving not to make an issue of the matter. Taking heart from the knowledge, the significance, of his name coming first - first! even before Lahabrea’s - he manages a smile.

  
  


Twined as Lahabrea is with the Emissary, he _feels_ his gratitude even before he can speak it. The name - whispered aloud, even - he speaks next startles him; he turns to look at Nabriales, seeing color touch his cheeks. Lahabrea realizes _something_ indeed has transpired between the pair, something significant. Before he can begin to assemble the details, though, his name - his _true_ name - follows. His mouth opens, but words desert him - damnable fickle things - and he clears his throat instead, lips pressing forcibly shut once more.

He watches Nabriales realize the significance, waits for the smirk. But what appears instead is gentle, uncertain, a bit crooked but kind, and when he speaks it is upon a different topic.

“Would you be so kind as to assist me in settling him in? I do believe he could use a bit more rest.”

Relief wafts over him, that Nabriales would extend him this courtesy, and he nods, shifting to support Elidibus upon the other side. “Of course.” Within his soul, he binds Nabriales more closely, gentle, waiting for the other man’s acceptance, before teleporting them all to a place he knows that should suffice. Together they assist Elidibus in sitting upon the bed, removing boots and gloves in silence, and easing him back to a position of rest.

  
  


Lethargy steals more and more of his awareness, and Elidibus does not attempt to fight the haze that creeps over his senses. Despite having slept so recently, the ordeal - pain, the vast amount of his own energy required for healing - is rapidly pushing him to a state of rest once more. His thoughts briefly turn to Emet-Selch, currently in his own slumber, and the inevitable remarks to come once the Architect is informed.

Reality shifts around him, only knowing they had moved at the very periphery of his conscious mind.

At the knife's edge of sleep, he is almost childlike with how he clings - to both men, holding fast to soul and weakly with hands both. It was as if drugged, how he behaved, and he knew when he awoke that he would look back on this vulnerability with distaste, save for the company he currently keeps.

"Forgive me," the words are slurred with sleep, but the intent is clear to both men. Forgiveness for requiring so much of them.

  
  


Nabriales feels his heart swell at how Elidibus clings to him. Never did he intend to leave his lover alone in such a condition, but _oh,_ to be wanted, to be _needed_ is sweet indeed. In response he interlaces his soul once more with Elidibus's, curling close and soothing without words. Forgiveness is unnecessary, and he whispers this truth against his soul.

The Emissary is safe; he may rest without worry, for Nabriales will watch over him.

Shedding his own boots and gloves, he settles himself at Elidibus's side, wrapping himself around the shorter man protectively, affectionately. His mask is likewise set aside, the hood falling back as he makes himself comfortable.

“He will be safe here.” Lahabrea’s voice intrudes upon his relaxation, and he turns a frown on the other Ascian. “You need not remain.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “but I _wish_ to. What’s more, _he_ wishes it. And so I shall stay.”

“I would have you brief me more fully on what transpired this day. He clearly is in no state to do so, and we must determine how grave a threat this ‘auracite’ will prove to be. Let us away where we may discuss it in depth.”

Nabriales's eyes narrow, a stubborn expression hardening his face. “I am not leaving.”

Lahabrea sighs, fingers rising to rub at the side of his temple. “This is more important. Recall that I saw the remains of the damage done to you, as well. This brooks no delay.”

“Then stay.”

  
  


Stay.

For a moment, Lahabrea is still. The idea strikes him, unexpected. Unanticipated.

He could stay.

Certainly Elidibus, now largely asleep, clings to him yet. He assuredly could disentangle himself without harm, but even in his current state, the Emissary would likely feel the lack. He sighs. In truth, there is no reason they cannot have their discussion here. Elidibus is far too weary to be troubled by it.

Very well; he will stay.

Kicking off his boots, he sits. Elidibus's hand, slipped free from Lahabrea's robes when he moved back after settling him upon the bed, beckons, fingers twitching as though he yet reaches for him in his doze, and after a moment he takes it in his newly ungloved hand.

"Do not think that I cannot feel your exhaustion, too." Lahabrea looks up in surprise, noticing that one of the sundered Ascian's earrings seems to be missing. "Why don't you rest as well?" The edge has faded from his voice, leaving a gentler, coaxing tone. "I do not believe they have any more of their auracite at the moment. We may wait until we are all more recovered to discuss in full."

Lahabrea's instinct is to pull back, to allow no vulnerability. Soft rebuke within his soul reminds him that he is still lightly connected to Nabriales, too, and for a wonder the normally prickly Ascian is welcoming, warm. Exhaustion creeps upon him despite his best intentions, and with a sigh he settles himself along Elidibus's other side.

Intentions of teasing information out of Nabriales fade as weariness seeps into his bones, Elidibus's needful clasp and Nabriales's insistent soothing lulling him into a state of rest.

  
  


Elidibus spirals into a healing sleep, the rest reinforcing the painstaking work Lahabrea has wrought over his soul. His last thoughts, before he entirely drifts away, are of the twin feelings of warmth on either side of him. Strange, to but a day prior have naught, and yet now to be surrounded. But he would not doubt what is surely His Hand in allowing such a thing. Such comfort, such enveloping trust, quickly has the Emissary slip into a deep sleep.

.

.

Later, he would awake to dwell upon what had happened, and what would need to be done. When his thoughts strayed towards what could have been, he had only to look within himself, at the lingering energies of his lover, at the memories of how Lahabrea had _come back to them._

His injury, painful though it had been, had served to unite the Convocation further in their cause.

Standing within the dark of their stronghold, a smile slides onto his face. The future would be _theirs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woven together at last.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series! We look forward to seeing you again.


End file.
